Vigilant
by MP - Mary Contrary
Summary: Decades after the events of Terra Prime, shadowy forces conspire to maneuver T'Pril Elizabeth Tucker to the forefront of the coming Earth-Romulan war.
1. Vigilant: Widow's Well

_Author's Note:_

_This is my first submission and I don't claim to be even an aspiring author. I do have this incessant drive to write and that's largely what this story is designed to appease. Just a fantasy that's been spinning around in my head for quite a while now, I thought I'd toss it out here for other, much more talented authors to rip to shreds. _

_Best case scenario: I'll get some constructive criticism that might, possible, just maybe make some future submission palatable. If you some constructive criticism laying around not tagged for anything in particular, by all means feel free to toss some of it my way. _

_Nevertheless, take this as fair warning. If you're a serious writer of any sort you'll probably end up scratching your eyeballs out after reading this one. I have never taken a writing course of any kind, haven't even pretended to try to improve my writing skills up to this point and this whole mess is designed solely to meet my own ready approval._

_If you were to lower your standards sufficiently, you might enjoy the story of course. But if you find that too difficult to be worth the effort then by all means submit pointers on those areas where improvement on my part can make that easier for you. I'll do my best to make this a work in progress that in the end might be something worthy of general approval. Because that'd be pretty awesome._

_Additionally: _

_My apologies to those who've offered such kind reviews so far...for having obliterated them. I apparently don't know what the heck I'm doing. But I've learned at least how delete my entire story. So...ahem...I'll try not to do **that **again. But I do have copies of your reviews in my email so they didn't go to waste. _

_Thank you and my apologies again._

_**********_

**Starfleet Headquarters**

**San Francisco, California**

Just when he thought the universe had thrown him every curve ball it could…it seemed there was always something new and interesting coming right out of nowhere to blindside him.

Admiral Jonathan Archer could only sit and shake his head a little, staring at the orders in his hand, amazed at what he'd just read. You'd think after all these years, all the insanity he'd seen put forth as if it made any damned sense at all…Hell, nothing should faze him anymore. And yet…

"Harnes…" Archer glanced up at the shadowy figure across his desk. "If that is your real name…?"

The man in question only shrugged slightly, with perhaps the barest hint of a sneer at his lips. "Does it really matter?"

"Fine, Harnes then." No, it didn't really matter. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'I don't know whether to shit or go blind?'"

That at least got a mild reaction out of the man.

"It's an old southern saying. Something I picked up from a certain engineer. I'm sure you can guess who."

Archer stood up slowly to stalk around his desk and confront the man a bit more directly. Face to face. 'Up close and personal like', as the engineer in question might himself have said. Damned if some young Section 31 punk would have him cowering behind a desk.

"It's the kind of thing one might say when confronted with something like this. Something so completely outrageous that there's simply no reasonable response to it."

A longsuffering sigh issued from the young man, as if all the world's trouble had so unjustly descended upon him. _For the love of…do they train these idiots to do that? _Archer had to wonder. Harris had displayed the same annoying habit.

"Admiral, I think perhaps…"

"I think perhaps you should just return to your superiors and inform them I've decided they can all go jump in a lake. Or better yet, just tender your damned resignation, son."

Waving the offending PADD at the man, Archer carried on. "If they're insane enough to come up with something like this then I can't see that you have an especially bright future with them. I suggest you get out while you still can."

"Admiral Archer." A smirking smile now. Just a little prod to get the Admiral's temper up and out of the way. "I can assure you the events set in motion here haven't all been orchestrated by our organization. Sometimes one must simply…work with the tools available."

Archer's voice began at last to heat up a bit. "You're saying more than one super secret gang of busybodies are responsible for this crew manifest being the utter joke that it is?" Archer glared for a brief moment. "Well, I have to admit that seems more likely. I can't imagine even Section 31 could pull off something this grotesquely stupid all on their own."

The old man was clearly working himself into a proper meltdown. Finally. That at least was more in keeping with the profile he'd been given on the aging Starfleet officer. Agent Harnes had wondered at first if he'd somehow managed to contact the _wrong _Admiral Archer.

"I'm afraid that's more or less the case, Admiral. But we need her in place before things heat up with the Romulans…and that would be _now_. That is really all you need to know."

"_I'll _decide what I need to know here!" And now the inevitable shouting down, right on cue. As if the agent were just other subordinate whom Archer could abuse to make himself feel better. "I don't work for you, son, and I'm not on some 'need to know' basis! If this is the best you can offer me then you can take this manifest and shove it up sideways!"

Archer tossed to PADD to the carpet with disdainful flick of the wrist, stalking back to his side of the desk. Reaching for…the intercom? Well that was unexpected. Surely the old fool didn't intend to call security?

Agent Harnes spoke quickly. "I assume it's escaped your notice that T'Pril has requested your cooperation in this matter?"

Well, now. That brought the old fart up short.

"Or should I call her Elizabeth? Interesting that she adopted that name again when she applied to the academy. T'Pril Elizabeth Tucker." Harnes said. "Ever wonder what that suggested?"

As Archer stared, one hand frozen over the intercom, Agent Harnes took his leisure retrieving the fallen PADD at his feet.

"The personal note attached in the addendum. From her to you." Again the slight sneer, as he offered the PADD back to Archer. Only a _slight _sneer, of course. One doesn't poke even an old dog too much with the stick.

The Admiral took a moment to regard the PADD he'd only just discarded before accepting it once again. With obvious reluctance he keyed up the text to scroll down to the bottom. Harnes moved obliquely to the window.

"Take your time, Admiral. I think you'll find T'Pril understands exactly what she represents to the Vulcan people…and what her role is here."

Harnes waited without further comment. There was no point in provoking the grumpy old bastard any more than necessary. Perhaps he was a bit of a pain in the ass and prodding him a little proved entertaining but pushing him any further would surely drag this out longer and louder than he would prefer. And there really wasn't all _that _much room to play games here.

Eventually Archer dropped the PADD to his desk. As predicted, T'Pril's personal plea had knocked the wind right out of his sails.

_Concede defeat, Archer. Grumble a bit until you've consoled yourself and then let's wrap the matter up before we have to suffer a full blown temper tantrum._

"You bastards."

_And here we go…clockwork_.

"After everything they've been through you pull their daughter into…whatever the hell this is?"

"No one's pulled T'Pril Tucker into anything, Admiral. She understands the situation we face and she's willing to do what is necessary."

"What's necessary…?"

"To win this war, Admiral."

"And what exactly is it she's expected to do? She just graduated from the academy yesterday. She's still an ensign and you have her tagged for…a command?!"

"Don't be dense, Archer. I think you understand very well how the Vulcans will react to this. Perhaps in the past she may have been some…illogical embarrassment to them. Something best forgotten. But today?"

Archer could only turn away, fists balled at tightly at his sides.

"Oh, they may not dare to say it out loud. But they're coming around to what T'Pau has been preaching all these years. The rumors have gotten around a bit, you know. The daughter of Charles Tucker, the hero who twice saved Vulcan from a devastating, pointless war? Of T'Pol, who recovered the Kir'shara from…Oh, hell Archer. I don't need to go over all that mystical destiny crap with _you_, of all people. For her to join Starfleet now? Fast tracked for a command position?"

"Haven't they done enough, damn it?!" Now Archer had whirled around to expend his final bit of rage. "Haven't they sacrificed and suffered enough? For you and the rest of the damned universe!"

Harnes spoke coldly. "Yes, they have. And now it's time for their daughter to do her part."

And just that quickly Archer slumped over, leaning on the edge of his desk with his eyes shut tight. "Damn it. What the hell more can you people want…"

"To win this war, Admiral. To secure humanity's place in the galaxy. Whatever you may think of us, our goals are the same as yours. You know as well as anyone that's what this has all been about. _This _war, against _this _threat, at _this _point in history. To bring together the coalition you've been working for all these years, with Earth right there at the table."

As Archer slumped under the weight of his burdens Harnes moved in, bringing his own weight down on him as well.

"The High Command knows damned well we'll push them out of the way in just a few more decades. In trade, technology…hell, diplomacy even."

Harnes looked down at the Admiral. "But it's not just the Vulcans, is it? The Andorians as well. They may call us their brothers but they can read a map. We've already edged out _around _them to explore systems they've been too busy snarling at the Vulcans to get around to. And the Tellarites? They were busy taking advantage of that very situation themselves when we came on the scene. And they haven't failed to notice how quickly we've caught up in the last fifty years."

At Archer's fleeting glance, Harnes could see his speech was having the effect he expected it would. Too easy.

"Shall I go on? Alpha Centauri? Orion? Nausicaa? What do they all think of those upstart humans? Take a look at recent history, Archer. From any perspective you care to. It's all the same. Where do they all see us in another fifty years? Another hundred?"

Towering over the aging Admiral now, he let the man slump back into his chair again before continuing. "We're too damned ambitious for our own good. We know it. And we offer no apologies for it. But don't think there isn't a political body anywhere out there that doesn't tremble at the prospect of a grand Terran Empire in the next couple hundred years."

Agent Harnes picked up the PADD that Archer had closed his eyes so tightly against. "Sign it, Archer. Without all of us together in this war…without a common victory against a common enemy…hell, they'd all be fools not to turncoat and join the Romulans in stomping us out before it's too damned late."

Harnes dropped the PADD to the desk with a sharp 'clack'. His turn to express some disdain. "And make no mistake, Admiral. The Romulans are just such an enemy. Every bit as ambitious as we are and still foolish enough to believe dominating the rest of the galaxy is a grand idea."

He moved to the door. If he was wrong about Archer, now would be the time for him to offer up another argument. Take another swing in this fight. But the admiral remained silent.

So Harnes stopped at the door. Never leave an opponent on the ground without a solid kick or two to make sure they _stay _down.

"You know how the Vulcans think, Archer. As long as they're around no one else has any excuse to be civilized. We can all murder one another like savages. Because we all know we can rely on the good old Vulcans to clean up the mess, make peace and keep order. That's how they've stayed on top all this time. Until _we _came along, anyway."

Archer at last raised his head wearily. Harnes knew he had him. Hook, line and sinker.

He shrugged. "It's up to you, Admiral. If you want Humanity to be just another savage lesser race…well, you don't have to do anything. But if you think we can do better…then you sign that order. Bring us all togetheron this. Because this war is the only way that's ever going to happen."

Agent Harnes left the room.

**********

As Agent Harnes entered the waiting vehicle and settled in with a weary sigh, Butler removed his earphone and pocketed it. He eyed Harnes for a moment before commenting.

"Well, Harnes, I gotta tell yah. That's the most craptastic bunch of crap I've ever heard crapped."

Harnes chuckled. "Well, Archer needed some crap. So he got some."

Butler groaned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "And these are the people running the universe. No wonder I can't afford a house on Risa."

Harnes laughed at that. "We work with the tools available, Butler. What are you going to do?"

"Does that old fossil really think the Vulcans are all out to get us? I mean, they're practically castrating themselves to convince us to do this."

"The old man's got this…thing about Vulcans. So yeah. He really does think they'll sit on their hands while the Rommies tear ass across the galaxy." The young agent shook his head sadly.

"Well I can't say we're any smarter. How the hell we're going to pull this one off, I can't tell you."

Harnes could only grunt in agreement. He leaned back, rubbing the tension from his own eyes as the unseen driver steered the cruiser into the night.

Butler wasn't finished, though. "We have to get a wet behind the ears Vulcan half-breed in command of a ship. While dealing with the Andorian agent on board watching her every move…that we have to politely pretend not to notice, of course."

"Yeah."

"With nothing but a clueless flight officer…who doesn't even know she's working for us yet…and, I might add, who happens to be dying of one of the most debilitating illnesses I've ever heard of…and shouldn't even be in Starfleet to begin with…"

"Yeah. You're killing me here, Butler."

"A worn out NX class ship, of course. With half the crew dead or retiring and nothing but a bunch of ensigns to replace them all with. Including the aforementioned half-breed…and our soon to be agent, if she doesn't die first…without pissing off the whole human race at the glaring ineptitude of Starfleet in the process of all this."

"Yeah, yeah. Enough already. Why don't you just go ahead and shoot me?"

"Hell, maybe the Rommies _should _just tear ass over the galaxy. They can't be this stupid. Maybe I can get that house on Risa under _their _administration."

"I take it back. Because now I have to shoot you instead, traitor."

"Hey, I'm just saying. If we manage to pull this one off I might have to start believing all that crap myself. Because obviously we really do kick everybody's ass."

"You work with the tools available, Butler. I keep telling you."

"Yeah. And then you bury them. The other thing you keep telling me."

Harnes sighed. "Because they're freakin' embarrassing."


	2. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 2

**NX-35 Vigilant - Bridge**

**Jupiter Station**

T'Pril Elizabeth Tucker, daughter of T'Pol and Charles Tucker, of the clan Tucker…was all tuckered out.

She would normally have had to suppress the slight grin that thought always evoked with her. Why it still amused her after all these years she couldn't say. Probably something to do with her father. He would tickle her mercilessly when he would say that. _"Is my little princess all tuckered out? Tickle, tickle!" _

And of course all her well thought out, imminently logical arguments against the oppressively imposed bed time schedule would be lost in a very un-Vulcan fit of giggling. And she'd end up in bed anyway, very sleepy after all.

In the vestibule outside the Captain's ready room, T'Pril was far too busy suppressing a discouraging amount of anxiety to be bothered with her fatigue however. Or even with warm memories of her father. She remained at attention and waited instead, making use of the disciplines her mother had so diligently instructed her in.

It was most logical to utilize this time to prepare herself properly, after all. Beyond the door…Captain Farrell and the interview she fully expected would be the most hostile that she had suffered to date. Perhaps there would even be an emotional outburst or two.

After several years of meritorious combat against both Orion and Romulan pirates, interdiction with the Tellar isolationists, holding the line almost single handedly against the D'khow renegades at Nausicaa…surely his current orders wouldn't sit well with Captain Farrell.

From the corner of her eye she could partly see the _Vigilant's _bridge and the crew at work there. Though there wasn't much going on at the moment she would prefer to be there, familiarizing herself with the systems and crew. Docked at Jupiter Station, even the ship's routine duties had been reduced to little more than oversight and diagnostics. It was the perfect opportunity for her to orient herself to her duties with minimal disruption.

T'Pril allowed herself a purely internal frown of disapproval. Surely on a Vulcan ship the captain would have already considered the implications of the orders he'd been given, accepted the inevitable and set about carrying them out. The orders were clear and considering how high up the chain of command they had been issued, challenging them would be pointless.

On a human ship, with a predominantly human crew however…specifically the human in command…

No, there were sure to be, as her father would say, "fireworks".

The hatch slid open. "Ensign Tucker, please come in." T'Pril steeled herself and entered, her transfer orders already in hand.

Captain Farrell, the man who had been up to now only a legend, was more or less what she expected. A tall, imposing figure who's bearing and gruff manner somehow commanded attention and respect practically on sight.

Humans may lack any measurable psychic ability, T'Pril observed, buy they were perfectly capable of projecting themselves into every corner of a room sometimes anyway. Apparently this was one such time. The anger in the room was palpable at the door.

"Captain, my orders, confirming my assignment to the _Vigilant _for detail into the First Officer command position."

Captain Farrell accepted the PADD, noting her transfer orders with a practiced glance before tossing it casually on the console beside him.

"At ease, ensign."

T'Pril relaxed her stance, only as much as absolutely required, folding her hands at her back. As Farrell studied her for a moment, she responded in kind, assessing her commanding officer assessing her. Behind the captain, at his shoulder, LCDR Emil Kruger glared. The source of most the negative emotion in the room, she determined.

Very unbecoming of an officer, T'Pril thought. Hopefully he wouldn't disgrace himself with an emotional display of some sort. The situation was surely trying enough for all involved.

The captain, satisfied with his appraisal, spoke at last. "I've read your jacket, ensign. Top of your class at the academy, an 'outstanding' rating on all efficiency reports and a meritorious commendation following your cadet cruise. All very impressive."

"Thank you, captain." T'Pril waited.

"Your grades at the academy were remarkable as well. So I can assume you are familiar with military history? Specifically Earth history. Though I understand you grew up on Alpha Centauri."

"I am familiar, captain."

"Then you can tell me who James William Caine was."

It took a moment but T'Pril was able to connect the name to the appropriate information quickly enough.

"United States Space Forces officer, commanding the USS _Stalwart _during the fourth Kzinti war. Credited with several decisive actions and awarded numerous commendations prior to the surrender of Kzinti forces and the Treaty of Sirius. Awarded the purple heart posthumously by both the United States and the European Union after performing a ramming maneuver against the Kzinti vessel _Torrogg_, disrupting it's attack on the diplomatic convoy."

Kruger snorted. Likewise unimpressed, the captain continued. T'Pril began to suspect this was to be an interrogation of some sort.

"And Tyrell Caine?"

T'Pril recognized the name immediately.

"Command officer aboard the UESPA vessel _Outrider_, tasked with distributing communication relays in and between neighboring systems in cooperation with the Vulcan Space Directorate. Lost to unidentified hostile forces near Beta Comae Berenices. Awarded posthumous honors by the United Earth government, along with all command staff who had likewise elected to stay aboard while the remaining crew abandoned ship. Later investigation revealed the _Outrider's _complement of communication relays had been utilized effectively as projectile weapons, providing cover for the escaping shuttles. He was the grandnephew of Captain James William Caine."

"Claire Caine."

Easy. This human she knew well. Her father had even spoken of her.

"Claire _Dana _Caine. Flight Officer assigned to the NX-02 _Columbia_. Cited for commendation following the _Columbia's _assistance to the _Enterprise _after that vessel had been sabotaged by Klingon boarders. And again for excellence in combat action with Klingon forces at the Qu'Vat colony. Received a posthumous promotion to Lieutenant and the Medal of Valor following the Battle of Altair. The daughter of James and Margaret Caine."

"Richard Caine."

T'Pril drew a breath to respond, expecting the information to surface as readily as it had so far. But then she realized she had no idea.

The name certainly seemed familiar. Something suggested itself to her that she should know this person. After a moment of diligent reflection…she still had nothing. A relative of Claire Caine, surely. Most likely a Starfleet officer of some note…

"Having a little trouble with that one, ensign?" The Captain was clearly displeased.

Then it hit her. T'Pril was unable to suppress the slow blink of surprise when she realized her blunder.

"Ensign Richard Caine. Security officer assigned the NX-35 _Vigilant_. Lost in action three months ago during the boarding of the _Vigilant _by terrorist members of the Tellar Isolationist Faction."

Captain Farrell simply stared. Until T'Pril began to wonder if she was expected to fidget.

"Nothing more, ensign? No commendations for bravery? Awards, medals, notable accomplishments?"

"None that I am aware of, captain."

LCDR Kruger interrupted with a grunted. "Because Ensign Caine fell out of an airlock during all the action. Took a wrong turn and ran by just as the second EVA team cut through. Sucked the poor, dumb kid right out into space."

T'Pril could think of no appropriate response, so she remained silent.

The captain continued. "I assume you've read the action reports on that incident. Considering your orders it would be…well, logical, to familiarize yourself with the _Vigilant's _history. In some detail."

"Yes, captain."

"And on what deck did the running battle between _Vigilant's _security crewmen and the Tellarite intruders take place?"

"D deck, captain."

"And on what deck is the port airlock of this ship located?"

"E deck, captain."

"So why do you suppose Ensign Caine was running down a corridor on E deck when there were intruders raising hell on D deck?"

T'Pril reflected for a moment before responding. "The reports I have read did not specify, captain. I assume he had been issued orders requiring his…"

"Wrong. He'd been ordered to D deck with everyone else to repel boarders. The damn fool kid got himself turned around in all the excitement and ended up on the wrong damned deck."

T'Pril opted not to respond…until it became obvious some manner of response was expected. "That is…unfortunate, captain."

"To say the least."

LCDR Kruger opined again. "He was a good kid. Might have made a damned fine officer one day…if he hadn't been such a complete screw up."

"Kid couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a med scanner." The captain responded.

"Sure as hell didn't deserve to die like that, though." Kruger grumbled.

Captain Farrell leaned forward and stared pointedly at T'Pril. "Just as the security team didn't deserve to be short a man in a fire fight. A fight that cost two other good men their lives."

T'Pril was silent for a moment before responding. "I understand, captain."

"Do you? Because there certainly is a moral to this story, ensign. Why don't you identify it for me, so I can be sure you do understand."

T'Pril took a breath. "Despite the…notable accomplishments of many of those in Ensign Caine's family line, this was no assurance that he would able to acquit himself with similar excellence. Perhaps due simply to the vagaries of misfortune he was clearly unable to do so. Which was of course tragic."

When no one exploded into emotional outburst, as she'd half expected, T'Pril braved on.

"Considering all relevant factors, obviously this line of inquiry is intended to illustrate to me that any accomplishments accredited to those of my family line do not necessarily reflect upon what is expected of me."

"Exactly."

"Captain, if I may be allowed…"

"Earth isn't at war with anyone in particular at the moment, ensign." The captain interrupted her. Rather rude behavior for an officer, T'Pril thought. "But that's only because no one back home has displayed the testicular fortitude to make it official."

The captain began to move suddenly, in an apparently random fashion. Pacing in a cramped compartment, she soon realized. Again T'Pril noted the signs of an impending outburst. She had hoped that could be avoided.

"This ship and her crew have suffered more combat actions than I can count, without using all my fingers and toes. Of our 82 man initial crew complement we've lost a total of 43 since we put out from Jupiter Station five years ago. As well as an additional 22 from among those that have replaced them from time to time. We even have one particular spot in security that's been vacated by casualty four times. Currently half our command crew is either KIA or simply retiring, including myself."

The captain suddenly ceased pacing. Directly in front of her.

"And so the _Vigilant _is being put out to pasture. To make room for the _Rodger Young_."

"_Daedalus _class." Offered Kruger. "A butt ugly ship if I ever saw one."

"And no, she's won't be mothballed as one would expect." Continued Farrell, ignoring the interruption. "She's to be redeployed as a…rear element vessel." The captain fairly spat the term in distaste.

"Damned waste." Muttered Kruger.

"With _you _as her commanding officer. An ensign fresh out of the academy. Along with three dozen other wet behind the ears, piss ant ensigns who, much like Ensign Caine, lack the ability to locate their own asses and refrain from falling out of airlocks."

The captain stepped closer, well into her personal space, to growl. "And what is to be her last assignment under my command? A damned milk run out to Widow's Well. For no other purpose than to put us out sight and mind while this whole farce plays out. And buy some time for your completely undeserved promotion to Lieutenant JG to go through the channels."

The captain was unabashedly snarling now. "A promotion which will no more justify your command than the hair on my ass."

Strained silence reigned for a moment and T'Pril allowed it, if only to give the two humans a chance to discipline themselves. Of course she doubted they intended to take the opportunity but one could always hope.

T'Pril replied calmly. "Captain, I understand this situation must be…"

"You shut your pie hole, ensign. I'm going to tell you how this is going to go."

Captain Farrell stomped to the console to retriever the PADD containing her transfer orders. Thumbing his approval with a vicious jab, he returned it to her. She could see his hand tremble slightly with anger.

"I seriously considered raising ten shades of holy hell over this…_travesty_. I retire when Vigilant returns from this mission, ensign, so I've not a damned thing to lose. I am prepared to call in every favor, ever marker, every contact I have…even by God the civilian news media. And there's only one thing stopping me from doing that."

Farrell glared as T'Pril calmly tucked her transfer orders into one pocket. His fury was palpable, provoking even LCDR Kruger to shift nervously.

"I will not allow you to embarrass Starfleet. I don't give a good goddamn who pulled what strings and applied what pressure or how in the holy hell you're standing in front of me right now. But I will not allow whatever incompetent politician or fathead Starfleet desk jockey who orchestrated this mess to dishonor the fleet. Are you with me so far, Ensign?"

"Yes, captain."

"We'll make our milk run. LCDR Kruger and myself will detail you into the command position you've been assigned in the process. And then you will go on to do your duty with the requisite competence. Is that understood?"

"Understood, captain."

"You will fulfill your assignments and perform whatever duties you are tasked with by Starfleet. You will conduct yourself appropriately and without in any way drawing attention of any sort to yourself, to your crew or to this ship. The next time I hear the name '_Vigilant' _it will be a byline on some news ticker, reporting a quiet decommissioning. After having accomplished _not a goddamned thing of note from this day to that,_ do you get me?"

"I understand, captain."

"I swear by Cochrane's whiskey bottle, if you do anything…_anything whatsoever_…to draw attention to the utter failure of Starfleet in assigning you command of this vessel…I will dedicate my life to making certain you regret the day Terra Prime ever hatched you from your test tube."

It took all of T'Pril's most viciously applied discipline to keep from reacting to _that_.

Ironically, the thought occurred to her that if her mother were present she would have had difficulty suppressing her pride at her daughter's placid outward appearance. Although she would have likely understood T'Pril's secret, burning desire to claw this petulant human's eyes from his skull.

Captain Farrell stalked to the door, activating it before stepping aside. "You will report to the bridge for Beta shift with LCDR Kruger, where you will meet all expectations. Now get the hell out of my sight."

T'Pril availed herself of the exit offered without hesitation, the hatch sliding shut immediately behind her.

In the vestibule, out of sight of the bridge crew, she allowed her hands to curl tightly. A single, barely perceptible tremble of true Vulcan fury assaulted her chin before she closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply.

In only a moment she had centered herself again and walked calmly away, a perfect picture of Vulcan reserve.


	3. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 3

**NX-35 Vigilant - Sickbay**

**Jupiter Station**

"Ensign Marisa Rodriguez."

"Uh…here, sir." A tall, brown haired ensign stepped out from the line of fresh recruits waiting at attention to be examined. Sulok recognized all the expected signs of anxiety and apprehension from a new crewman, though he perceived this young officer was slightly more anxious than most.

Sulok spoke clearly, for the sake of the remaining recruits in attendance as much as for Rodriguez.

"I am Dr. Sulok. As Chief Medical Officer for the _Vigilant _I only technically hold the rank of Lieutenant. It is appropriate to refer to me as Doctor or Doctor Sulok. In casual off-duty situations, "Doc" will be considered acceptable."

"Uh…yes, sir. Er, doctor." Marisa fidgeted.

"Very well. Come with me."

The Vulcan physician led her to the examination alcove, whisking the privacy partition into place behind them once she'd entered ahead of him.

"If you will be seated and remove your uniform we will begin the examination."

"Yeah…uh…about that…" The ensign tucked her behind one ear, smiling shyly.

Sulok would have suppressed a sigh, were he a lesser Vulcan. He found emotionally expressive humans, especially those who incessantly signaled a need for comforting, especially taxing. Sulok did not embrace of philosophy of coddling patients. A bed side manner of any sort was something best reserved for bond mates. If even that.

"Yes, ensign?" Sulok prompted, allowing one eyebrow to elevate to a level that would convey irritation.

The young woman paused for a moment. "Uh…never mind."

"If you have concerns Ensign, please state them. Or if you are uncomfortable being examined by a male or a Vulcan, Ensign Bailey may do so instead."

A certain snappishness was something Sulok had learned to cultivate during his tenure as Chief Medical Officer aboard the _Vigilant_. Not an emotional display so much as purely an act. Perhaps not fully in keeping with the teachings of Surak but certainly helpful in keeping sickbay running in an efficient manner.

Sitting quickly on the examination bed, Ensign Rodriguez began removing her uniform. "Oh, no, it's not…I mean…it's not important, doctor."

"Very well. Please be still until I instruct you to move."

**********

Emerging minutes later, Dr. Sulok called to his assistant. "Medic Bailey. Please seat Ensign Rodriguez on one of the recovery beds. She will wait there until I have completed the remainder of the initial examinations."

Bailey found the order unusual but didn't hesitate to show Marisa to her seat. Ensign Rodriguez waited uncomfortably for two hours before Sulok was able to see her again.

When Doctor Sulok reappeared Ensign Rodriguez found LCDR Kruger in attendance as well. She leapt from the recovery bed where she lounged to snap to attention.

"At ease, ensign." Kruger said, nodding to Sulok.

The doctor took the lead, referring to the PADD in his hands. "Ensign Rodriguez, are you aware that you have contracted Belts-Karnes Syndrome?"

Rodriguez responded. "Uh, yes, sir. I mean, doctor."

"And when were you made aware of this?"

"The…uh…physicians at the academy told me. They…I mean, in a routine check up, doctor." Marisa began to fidget.

"At present there is no known cure for this illness. At least for humans. After considering your specific case I would estimate morbidity in as little as three years. Possibly longer with diligent intervention. Did the physicians at the academy not inform you of this?"

At first Marisa was too shocked to respond. Not so much at the news. She already knew. But the casual manner in which the Vulcan had stated it…

"Uh..y..yes. They…yes, that's what they…uh…they told me." She stammered, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

LCDR Kruger was beginning to frown, she noticed.

"Ensign, according to Starfleet standards of fitness you should never have been allowed to attend the academy, much less graduate. The time and expense involved in training a Starfleet officer precludes accepting individuals unlikely to serve for an extended period of time due to illness, especially impending death. And considering this condition that will likely effect your performance within only a year…"

Marisa could only stare in shock until LCDR Kruger finally interrupted. "For God's sake, Doc!" With a glare he convinced the Vulcan doctor to stop speaking, though Sulok raised one eyebrow in protest at Kruger's unseemly outburst.

"Ensign, you'll pardon Doctor Sulok's complete lack of manners." Expressing his discomfort, Kruger ran one hand through his thinning hair before clearing his throat gruffly and continuing. "However, considering your illness there are some interesting questions here that need answering."

Marisa's throat had tightened despite herself but she swallowed thickly and replied. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

It wasn't really the topic of the conversation so much. She knew she was dying. She accepted that, as much as one _could _accept it. Being put on the spot with no warning was another thing altogether. Marisa just wasn't very good at confrontations.

Kruger accepted the PADD from Sulok, scrolling to the end of the document it displayed. "I have a waiver here, signed by Starfleet Medical Director Dillon and co-signed by Rear Admiral Billings himself. This waiver excuses you specifically from medical standards concerning this illness."

Marisa could only respond miserably. "Yes, sir." What else could she say?

Kruger frowned all the more deeply and even glanced at Sulok, at something of a loss. "Ensign, can you perhaps give us any insight into what the hell's going on here?"

At that Marisa gasped in sudden understanding. Of course. They thought…"Oh. Sir, I…I really don't know."

Kruger stared for a moment. "You don't know why Director Dillon and Rear Admiral Billings have taken a personal interest in allowing you to join Starfleet? In complete contradiction to standards of fitness?"

Marisa managed a helpless shrug. "No. Sir, I really don't. I have no idea what's going on. When the docs at the academy told me…I mean, I freaked out a bit. But…I mean, after a while…well, I expected someone would come around and tell me I had to drop out or something."

When the two men before her didn't respond, she continued on, more than a little eager to express her own bewilderment. "I mean…I just studied very hard and really applied myself. You know, to kind of keep myself occupied. I didn't know what else to do. I mean, I had counseling of course and…well, eventually it occurred to me to ask…what they were going to do with me?"

Sulok responded to that. "If you are referring to treatment for the illness, ensign, as I've said there is no known cure for humans. Some treatments are available to defer the progression of the disease…"

"No, no. I mean…yes, I knew that. _Anatroloplene _regimen and _dichloral_-whatever injections and all that. They did all that already. I mean I asked them if I was going to be able to complete my time at the academy. And then what I was going to do after. I…I really didn't know what I was going to do. And they said…well…they said…"

Marisa stopped to catch her breath and gather her resolve. "They said it didn't matter. Everything was fine. Just go ahead and graduate…and…apply for ship posting."

Kruger stared in amazement and even Sulok raised another brow. "I…even pointed out the fitness requirements in the regs. It was like…like no one wanted to talk about it. So…I just went ahead and graduated. My parents are gone and I don't really have any other family. I didn't have anywhere else to go…"

_Oh, God. I'm babbling_. Marisa thought.

Thankfully LCDR Kruger interrupted. "Let me get this straight, ensign. Not only were you allowed to graduate, as well as apply for and receive a ship posting, but your superiors ignored the fitness regs even after you pointed them out to them?"

Marisa nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir. The director and the liaison both. The director even ran me out of his office. I'm pretty sure he got…well, _angry _with me. And then all of a sudden there's this waiver on my fleet jacket. Out of nowhere. Sir, I…I just thought…"

Now Marisa truly was near to tears and her chin quivered. She fought to keep her voice level but was ashamed to find herself squeaking anyway. "I just didn't have anywhere else to go, sir. I thought it would be best to just…not question it."

Sulok stared at the wall, doing his best not to be cognizant of the rampant emotionalism being flaunted about the place. After a moment of awkward silence Kruger finally sighed heavily.

"Ensign…hell, Rodriguez, look. I'm not going to lie to you. This is highly irregular. It's something I'm going to have to look into. You understand?"

Marisa nodded weakly, still fighting. "Yes, sir." She whispered.

"I don't know how that's going to shake out. But it's what I have to do. So. You go on and report to Ensign Hsiao. Let him get you oriented to your duty station. When the time comes, I'll let you know what's what."

Marisa cleared her throat. "Yes, sir."

"Alright, then. You're dismissed."


	4. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 4

**NX-35 Vigilant - Armory**

**Jupiter Station**

LT Tuffilik "Tuffy" Gaver had a reputation for efficiency, strict professionalism and generally not being someone you want finding you in any other state than extraordinarily busy whenever he came around.

His appearance, unusually "alien" to the humans that comprised the security complement of the _Vigilant_, lent itself well to provoking their undivided attention. His human subordinates couldn't help but take a Tellarite snout politely shoved in their faces very, very seriously.

Indeed, from the beginning he found humans to be immensely easy to supervise. A little kindness really went a long way.

"Ensign Marks! As much as your ugly face makes me want to vomit profusely, I expect you on time for your duties! While a lesser officer might find five minutes without your disgusting stench to be a blessing, I'm willing to suffer for the sake of the security of this ship! Do you understand me or has your obsession with pornography damaged your brain so that you can no longer comprehend speech?!"

"Yes, sir! Understood, sir!"

"Pathetic! Now stumble over to Johansson and see if you can be of any use! As unlikely as that may be, we are paying you so we might as well try to get something for it."

Tuffy turned to the MACO standing beside him and complained. "Damned humans! Can't get a rise out of any of them."

Major Rico Morales responded, with perfect seriousness, "You keep them too busy to be polite. And you intimidate them besides. A big, fat, ugly pig yelling at you kinda has that effect, Lieutenant. Hell, you scare me sometimes."

Tuffy grabbed the PADD Morales offered him and began going over the data it displayed, unperturbed. "I doubt anything scares you, Morales. Even your own mother. And from the pictures I've seen of her she's quite the nightmarish creature. I think I'd rather cuddle a Klingon saber bear."

"Well as much as the thought of you cuddling my mother makes me all warm and tingly, I'm not here to exchange pleasantries, Tuffy."

"Hmm?" That managed to drag Tuffy's attention away from the readiness report.

"New recruits. And your replacement. On their way and here in less than a minute."

"Ah! Good! I want to get a look at the murdering Andorian bastard Starfleet intends to inflict on my department."

"Tuffy. If I didn't know any better I'd think you doubted Starfleet's wisdom."

"Starfleet can lick my beard if they think I'll take this lying down! I intend to give this blue-skinned beast a proper introduction, let me tell you! In fact, I think it's past time to test the loyalty of my security officers! Think they'll shoot him if I ordered them to?"

Morales finally couldn't help but grin a bit at that, though he was immediately distracted by a commotion at the door to the armory.

"_Tuffilik Gaver_!" A voice boomed behind him. "I'm here to claim this territory in the name of the Andorian Empire! Surrender or I'll skin your miserable carcass and give my children something proper to wipe their asses with!"

Tuffy was already gaping in astonishment at the hulking Andorian blocking the entrance to his armory before Morales could properly assess the threat.

"Rexas!" He gasped at last, in what Morales assumed at first was abject horror when he glanced back…until the old Tellarite grasped his prominent belly and began to roar with laughter.

"Rexas P'Trell! What are _you _doing here? And everyone knows you haven't got any children! No woman would mate with a blue-blooded ice biter like you!"

"I'm your replacement, you old fool." Rexas announced, advancing already with a grin as much a match for the Tellarite's. "Starfleet finally figured out you were too old and senile to be worth what they were paying you. And your sister didn't share your opinion. A bit of biter herself, I recall."

"Is that right?! Well, we'll see about that! Ensign Marks! Draw your weapon and shoot this miserable Andorian bastard dead where he stands!"

Rexas P'Trell grinned even wider as Morales stared back and forth at the two. Ensign Marks, to his credit, put one hand to his phaser but didn't draw it."Uh…sir?" Squeaked the security officer.

Tuffy only laughed louder, booming at Rexas again. "Well, there you go! Good luck, you frozen mass of Vulcan excrement. You can see they don't do a damned thing I tell them to do."

By then Rexas had already reached the old Tellarite. The two grinning broadly and grasping one another's arms in a gesture clearly intended as affectionate.

"Ah! You've gotten fat! Good!" Announced the Andorian officer. "I hope all your people have gotten as fat! It will make our imminent invasion so much easier!"

"Bah!" Replied Tuffy. "We were as fat as your women when we first met and you still ran away in terror! We got tired of waiting for your imminent invasion decades ago."

With a visible start Tuffy suddenly remembered the MACO officer was still there, apparently unsure whether violence was about to break out.

"Morales! Let me introduce you to Rexas P'Trell. And I do hope you haven't a very bad opinion of his people. I assure you that after you've become acquainted you'll despise them all the more."

At that Rexas turned his attention to Morales, quickly eyeing his uniform and service patch with obvious recognition. "Morales…major…of the MACO? I've always wanted to meet one of you people." Rexas extended one hand for the expected human handshake greeting. "The MACO are a fine group of warriors, I'm told."

"Ah, don't let him fool you, Morales. This sneaky Andorian _trag _spent quite a few long years in the Andorian Imperial Guard. He's probably killed and eaten a few MACO over the years."

"Certainly not!" Responded Rexas, seemingly outraged. Grasping the MACO's hand firmly and holding eye contact perhaps a second longer than necessary he continued, "I'm very strict about my diet." And grinned wickedly.

If Morales' eyes narrowed any further, they'd probably have closed completely. Which suited Rexas well. A warrior should be cautious of everyone. Turning away abruptly, he bellowed at Tuffy again. "Show me your office, Tuffy. I realize you're getting old fast, so we should get things started before you forget who I am."

As the two headed for the Armory, still roaring at one another, Morales watched them and wondered. How many MACO had this brute of an Andorian met before? And under what circumstances?

**********

When Tuffy produced the decanter of Andorian ale from the hidden compartment, Rexas laughed again. "Tuffy! I think I must apologize. I should never have introduced you to the stuff. Now I see it's not your age that's prompted Starfleet to toss you down a gravity well, you old drunkard."

"Ah, you laugh now. But soon I'll be sleeping in warm mud every night, drinking Andorian ale by the barrel and have a dozen beautiful women feeding me _kofla _by hand. Unlike you young fools, I've been saving my money all these years. My retirement will be splendid, I assure you."

Tuffy finished pouring the ale, handing Rexas his. "You, meanwhile, will be here, choking on the fumes of those damnable waste conduits that keep leaking into the loading tubes…and pining for the Aenar lover you left back home!"

"A vicious lie!" Rexas gasped in mock offense. "There are _two_! Twins, if you must know."

Rumbling with laughter, Tuffy scooted butt first deep into his deck chair. Finally he sighed in comfort.

"So, Rexas. Let us cut through a bull, as the humans say. Why are you here?"

"I realize you're getting on in years, Tuffy. But surely you remember only a few minutes ago. I'm here to take over as Tactical Officer. The Imperial Guard has come to the long overdue conclusion that Starfleet can't hope to survive much longer without some strong, blue blood in the ranks."

"And so the Guard simply released you from your commission, hm? Yes, of course. That's about as likely as you ever reproducing."

"Ah, no. I'm one of many in Starfleet's new officer exchange program with Andoria."

Tuffy jumped nearly out his chair at that. "What?! I wasn't told about this!"

Rexas waved his concerns away with one hand. "Because you don't bother keeping up with such things, you old fool. The humans found out about the Vulcan's ridiculous habit of trading officers among their allies and just had to emulate them. And so…here I am."

"But you still hold rank in the Guard?" Replied Tuffy, settling down a bit.

"Oh, well. Technically. But so long as I'm here, I serve Starfleet. Of course."

Tuffy snorted dubiously. "Yes, of course."

Rexas grinned and, to the old Tellarite's astonishment, winked. "But I think that's not what you meant, is it?"

"You know very well what I mean. You? A Starfleet Officer? And what's with the rank? Ensign? Is that a joke of some sort?"

"Hmm…well, it couldn't be helped. I don't think any of the recruits Starfleet has dumped into this ship rank higher than ensign. Not a one of them. Even that famous Vulcan that's supposed to be commanding this old hulk."

"You bite your tongue, you blue devil! This old hulk has been cracking the hulls of her enemies two at a time for quite a few years now. I think you know we gave your old friend Shara a good thrashing one time."

Rexas grinned and shrugged. "That old hag should never have been given a command. Serves her right. Never pick a fight unless you know you'll win." He took a deep draught of ale before sighing with satisfaction. "Nevertheless, I couldn't very well outrank the commanding officer. So, an ensign I am."

"Ridiculous! The entire bridge crew she'll be commanding already outrank her! Don't feed me a bunch of swill!"

Rexas shrugged, musing. "Well, perhaps someone simply thought it best that I not draw any attention to myself. I'll hardly be the first ensign Tactical Officer in Starfleet. And I'll be happier if you didn't announce all over the ship that I'm anything other than that, Tuffy."

Tuffy growled a bit. "Which brings us back to the original question. Why are you here? And don't think I don't already know it has something to do with the Tucker girl. Hardly a coincidence, I think."

"Don't ask questions you don't want an answer to, Tuffy. Suffice it to say, so long as I hold a commission here my loyalty will be to Starfleet exclusively." Rexas grinned wickedly again. "Those are my orders, after all."

Tuffy scratched his belly and grumbled before draining his glass. "And if those orders change?"

"They won't, rest assured. I'm here to protect this ship and that's what I intend to do."

"I don't believe for a moment the Andorian Imperial Guard cares a damn about the safety of one Starfleet vessel. Certainly not enough to send you, Rexas. Or anyone else, for that matter." Tuffy Gaver was outright staring at him now.

Rexas allowed himself a sigh. No, the old coot wasn't about to just go along and retire quietly, was he?

"Tuffy, my old friend. If you really won't be able to enjoy your mud baths and _kofla_-serving wenches in peace…then I'll point out that the humans and Vulcans aren't the only ones interested in this Tucker girl's well being. And let us leave it at that."

Tuffy reclined in his chair again, staring at the ceiling and scratching his beard thoughtfully. After a moment, he spoke again.

"Hmm. That Kir'shara business. The Tuckers, Admiral Archer, something about Surak's ghost? Yes, I've heard all the rumors. I suppose everyone has by now." He turned his head to regard Rexas carefully.

"I hope you're not suggesting the Andorian government is getting caught up in all that mystical nonsense. And why do the Vulcans suddenly care _now _anyway? None of that stopped them from running the Tuckers off like a couple of bastard step-children all those years ago."

Rexas only smiled into his glass. "No, old friend. My superiors are certainly not the mystical sort."

"So what do they care? Care enough to send you here, I mean."

"Oh, my superiors don't have to believe there's anything special about the Tuckers or this one in particular. It's enough that the Vulcans do. And many of the humans, I'll point out. Someone far above my pay grade clearly doesn't want our allies getting their feelings hurt."

"Someone in the Dark Guard, you mean."

"Never heard of it."

Tuffy rumbled. "So you're here for her then."

"As Tactical Officer, I'm responsible for the safety of the ship and her crew, Tuffy." Rexas shrugged slightly. "And besides. Maybe there's something to all this mystical nonsense after all. It is a strange universe, Tuffilik."

"Not so strange as that." He replied.

"Right now in this very universe an Andorian and a Tellarite are sharing a bottle of ale in the Armory Officer's Quarters of a Starfleet vessel. Don't tell me that isn't strange."


	5. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 5

**NX-35 Vigilant - Science Labs**

**Jupiter Station**

Ensign Jennifer West couldn't help but run one hand across the smooth console of the Sensor Data Analysis station. With the addition of the recent tech upgrades the Andorians had finally allowed Starfleet to tug through their reluctant blue fingers, this station now commanded one of the premiere sensor systems in the known galaxy.

Jenny couldn't help but smirk a bit at the thought. There were a few members of Vulcan High Command she knew were meditating a lot more diligently these days.

_Just you wait, you stuffy old crabs. We'll catch up to you soon enough. Then you can all go back to meditating on your belly buttons while the Terrans take the reins for a while. _

Though it wasn't quite appropriate for her to tinker around when she hadn't even been properly oriented, Jenny couldn't help but at least call up the most recent diagnostic results on the system. Everything had already been checked out, after all. The Science Labs were largely empty as the various officers waited around in their quarters for everyone else to catch up and the _Vigilant _to break dock. Then they'd all finally have something to do.

After a moment's hesitation, if only for propriety's sake, she let her fingers free to dance across the console. In moments she was entranced with the data flowing over the screen.

Beautiful. With this bad girl she was sure she could track down her old quantum physics professor from high Earth orbit with nothing but a general description. Probably have a full life signs reading in ten seconds. Maybe even forward the data to Sickbay and get a detailed cardiac workup on the old coot. Put to rest all the speculation over whether he had heart and exactly what material it was composed of once and for all.

_I wonder if we could tap into the Home Media Entertainment satellite feed all the way out here? I bet we could, couldn't we girl? Let's just give that a whirl…there we go. Isolate the data streams…now tweak the feed a bit…nice. Simple transition from the civilian datcode to Starfleet syssdat. Aaaand…viola! Ooooh, 'Sunset Valley'. Haven't seen this episode. Is this before or after Veronica found out about Eric's little tryst with Alicia's cousin…?_

"Ahem."

Jennifer West sprang to her feet, more in surprise than out of respect for a senior officer. Although, now on her feet, she recognized that little fact and sprang a little further to full attention.

"Commander Kruger, sir."

Her immediate superior. The bridge Science Officer she was supposed to be replacing.

Damn it.

LCDR Kruger spared her two more seconds of implied threat before leaning slightly to the left to turn his glare on the screen behind her. Jenny closed her eyes for a moment and grimaced.

"'_Sunset Valley_'. A good show, ensign?"

"Uh…yes, sir."

"A fan are you?"

"Sir, I was really just…checking out the sensor suite. Thought I'd give her a test run before…"

"Can't say I'm up on the show. That or any other for that matter. In fact, I don't think I've availed myself of anything but news feeds in my off hours for quite a long time. Care to hazard a guess why that might be, ensign?"

"I would imagine you're duties aboard the _Vigilant _keep you too busy for soap operas, sir."

"Exactly right. So I'm sure you'll understand if I wonder how my replacement has time for them."

"Sir, I…"

"Save it, ensign. How long did it take you to hack that civilian media feed?"

Jenny struggled valiantly and managed to avoid stammering. "Can't say that I did, sir. The system did all the work. From isolating the various data bundles to pulling out a specific audio/video broadcast…I'd say maybe twenty seconds, sir. I'd have to check the logs to give a more precise answer."

"Good enough. She's a real terror, isn't she?"

Jenny pondered how brave she was for 0.2 seconds before deciding to risk a little enthusiasm. She grinned slightly. Hell, she couldn't help it anyway.

"If you'll pardon me saying so, sir. Damned right she is. I can't wait to see what she can do when we reach Widow's Well."

She was relieved when the corner of Kruger's mouth quirked up a bit at that. Although she got the distinct impression that was as close to smiling as the man ever got.

"Ensign…I realize most of the crew, the captain included, think of this as just pointless exercise, a milk run. I assure you it isn't. If these new sensor upgrades really can adjust for particle drift, even in subspace differential scans, that opens up a few possibilities."

"I would imagine so, sir. A couple of the new relays parked off the gravity well would close a fairly large blind spot out here."

Kruger suddenly eyed her speculatively. "Not too many science officers understand the tactical benefits these upgrades represent, ensign."

Jenny shrugged a little. "Well…I suppose I've just spent a lot of time in both worlds, sir. I've heard a few tacticians complain about Widow's Well sitting off our flank, so to speak. I suppose someone in Starfleet Science must have put two and two together when these upgrades became available."

Kruger nodded. "Exactly right. As it is the Klingons could practically park a couple dozen ships in that well and conduct live fire exercises with none the wiser. This new sensor system won't exactly close the window, of course…"

"But we can make it a bit of a tight squeeze to crawl through, sir."

Another fleeting quirk of the lip from Kruger. "I'm glad you understand the situation. But let's get back to the matter at hand."

He nodded at the screen behind her. "I understand there isn't much for our department to do right now but what do you say we try to keep ourselves somewhere this side of the law, ensign. Agreed?"

Jenny straightened up again as well. Eyes front, shoulders locked. Snap. "Absolutely, sir. I'll kill the connection and dump the data forthwith, sir."

"Outstanding." Kruger affirmed.

As the grizzled Science Officer turned and strode away, Jenny had almost drawn a quiet breath for a decent sigh of relief when he stopped and turned around again.

"By the way. The reason I came looking for you. Charles West is your father, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir." Jenny had expected this sooner or later.

"Served with him on the _Revere_. Damned fine MACO."

"Yes, sir. If I may say so he mentioned you as well, sir."

Kruger grunted. "I won't ask if his opinion was flattering or not, ensign. Regardless, he saved my bacon a time or two."

Jenny waited.

Kruger furrowed his brow a bit. "Ensign West, forgive me for asking. Not that your academy jacket isn't impressive but your West Point jacket is no less so. Scuttlebutt had you pegged for a ground pounder right up until you transferred to the academy."

Jenny nodded. "Why'd I join Starfleet, sir?"

"Exactly that, ensign." Kruger shrugged. "Not that it's an issue. Their loss, our gain. But I admit I am curious. It's quite a stretch from MACO to Science Officer. And I have to wonder at your father's reaction to your decision. Not a big fan of Starfleet, as I recall."

Jenny's brow furrowed a bit this time. "Sir…I assume you're unaware. My father passed away two years ago. 'Purge' accident, sir."

"'Purge', ensign?"

"Excuse me. PRJ. Personal reentry jumping. Heat shield failed, sir."

Kruger had the decency to look aghast. "I see. My apologies, ensign."

"Not at all, sir."

"I understood your father had retired from the MACO, is that not right?"

"Yes, sir. He did. He jumped purely for sport, sir."

"At fifty…what, three?" Kruger shook his head in wonder. "I have to admit, he was tough. You certainly couldn't get me to jump off a stool these days. Not without setting it on fire first."

Jenny couldn't think of anything else to say. So she smile politely and…oh, right.

"To answer your question, sir. My daughter. No one at home to care for her. Which rather eliminated a career in the MACO as an option."

"Her father…unavailable?"

"She's adopted, sir. No father. Or, at least, none that I know of." Jenny shrugged.

Kruger grunted again. "Well, not to poke around too much in your personal business but how does a Starfleet career pose less of a problem?"

For a fleeting moment Jennifer West looked confused. "Well…I brought her with me, sir."

"With you? What do you mean?" Now Kruger looked lost.

"Well, sir…one moment, sir. Nikki? Come here, honey."

To LCDR Kruger's absolute shock a young girl, no more than 12 years old, popped up out of nowhere on the other side of the sensor station. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, civilian clothing and even…is that a _doll _in her hand? Emil Kruger could only gape in astonishment as she came around to her mother's side.

"Honey, this is Lieutenant Commander Emil Kruger. He served with your grandfather on the _Revere _a long time ago. Say hello, Nikki." Jenny smiled at her superior with unabashed pride, hugging her daughter tightly to her side.

"Hello, Mr. Kruger." The young girl said shyly, stroking her doll's hair for comfort.

"Ensign!" Sputtered Kruger. "You are aware we're less than an hour from launch?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that civilians aren't allowed on the vessel without authorization?"

"Well, yes, sir." Jenny wondered what in the world Kruger was going on about.

"May I ask what in the…what you were thinking bringing your daughter on board?!"

"I…" Jenny was now thoroughly confused. "Sir?"

"It's not important." The young girl solemnly announced.

Kruger stared at the child.

For three seconds, nothing important happened.

"Right. Of course. Not an issue." Kruger shook his head a bit before returning his attention to Ensign West. "Anyway. Where was I, ensign?" His brow furrowed tightly. Damn, he'd been right in the middle of…something.

"I…I'm really not sure, sir."

Finally Kruger shrugged. "Well if it's important it'll come back to me. Regardless, I don't think the Science Labs are the proper place for a young lady. Perhaps she should restrict herself to unsecured areas of the ship?"

"Yes, sir. Or course you're right, sir." Jenny nodded.

She turned to her daughter, who had turned her attention back her doll. "Nikki, why don't you go on back to our quarters and study a bit, hm?"

Looking up, Nikki smiled brightly for her mother. "Yes, ma'am." With a bouncing step, she headed for the exit.

"Oh and remember what we talked about. What areas are safe and what areas to stay clear of."

"Yes, ma'am. I promise."

"And don't bother anyone working, honey."

"I won't, momma." Already she was walking out the door.

"Okay, I'll be there in a bit!"

"'_Kay_!" Nikki's muffled reply, from beyond the door.

Kruger grunted. "Huh. Nice kid. Never had children myself, ensign. Though I can see what all the fuss is about."

Jenny grinned. "It really is something, sir."

"Alright then." Kruger nodded at the console. "Take care of that business there before HME starts billing us. Then go ahead and get squared away for launch."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll see you on the bridge in one hour, ensign."


	6. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 6

**"Beau Devoir" Business Park - Office Unit 13**

**Paris, France**

In the shadowy underground office the man behind the desk waited patiently, the sub dermal chip already tickling his ear with information concerning the agent stalking up the hall outside. By the time the man reached the door to the 'kill box', the Director would know everything there was to know about him.

But of course, he already knew everything. The visit was expected. Scheduled for eleven minutes ago, in point of fact. Something the Director found more than a little irritating, though he knew there wasn't much he could do about it. Section 31 had always been a bit shoddy in that way. Considering the nature of the organization, trying to keep discipline tight on 'minor' points like being on time for a briefing seemed beyond the concern of most agents. He'd given up on that long ago.

As the agent entered the 'kill box' and the system began considering whether to allow him through or obliterate him from the universe, the Director rose and deactivated the running intel screens before him. He didn't care for distractions just now. This particular report was too important…too personal.

After a moment the sensor system and the unseen operators behind it decided the visitor could live for a little while longer and allowed him through. The door cycled open and Agent Harnes entered the room.

"Director." Harnes nodded.

"Have a seat." The director said, gesturing at the chair opposite him before taking his own seat again. Somehow he still seemed to remain at attention, the agent noticed. As Harnes settled in he wondered at his superior. The man had always been an oddity, never really seeming to fit in with the organization.

"I have the updates on the Tucker situation."

The Director nodded sharply. "Get on with it, Harnes."

"Right. Well." Harnes activated the device on his wrist and data began to float in the air above to his right. "The Vigilant broke dock just two hours ago, on it's way to Widow's Well. Everyone is in place as expected, no surprises there."

"The Andorian?"

Harnes nodded. "Seems to have settled in without running up too many red flags. The Tellarite made a little call back home just before Vigilant went to warp, requesting info on his old friend. From an uncle in the Tellar Diplomatic Corp. Not a lot of trust there, I gather. That won't come to anything, though."

"And Rodriguez?"

Harnes sighed and scrolled through one of the three displays at hand. "Well, that was a bit of a mess. As expected, Kruger informed Farrell and Farrell raised a little hell. But Billings stomped on that pretty quick."

"Admiral Billings."

Harnes paused. "Right. Admiral Billings. He sent a personal communiqué off to Farrell with some rather…" Harnes smiled. "creative vocabulary. That seems to have put an end to it."

The Director leaned back in his chair and, to Harnes' mild surprise, placed one hand to his chin to stroke it thoughtfully. That was about as close to relaxed as he'd ever seen the man.

Harnes continued. "We still haven't made contact with her. Any change on that? It'd be nice to have some eyes on site here."

"No. We'll leave that be for now. In fact, her illness may have to be done away with soon."

Harnes was surprised. "Really. That will make it a bit hard to recruit her."

The man sighed. "It's unfortunate. But we'll need the Vigilant at Vulcan soon and a certain medical program there is just the ticket." The Director shrugged. "It's not my call, Harnes. It's been decided she's of more use in that manner."

Harnes frowned. He suspected the Director wasn't all that disappointed. That sort of manipulation wasn't something he was comfortable with, as odd a quality as that might be for a man in his position.

"That leaves us with no operative on site."

"Bloody cock up, I agree. We'll have to tap into the Andorian's communications…perhaps prod the Vulcan medical officer a bit…What do we have on him?"

Harnes tapped a floating display, calling up intel on the officer. "Not much to work with there. He's been with the Vigilant since day one. Loyal to Starfleet, probably to the exclusion of Vulcan except in the most extreme cases."

"Your impressions?"

"He's a very old school Vulcan, this guy. No fraternization with fellow crew members. No hobbies or interests beyond his duties in sickbay. Meditates religiously, twice a day. Even the occasional apparent emotional display seems more of a put on than the real thing. Just to get the humans around him moving in the right direction. Which pretty much amounts to getting the hell out of his way."

"Do you think he can manipulated through Vulcan Intelligence?"

Harnes shook his head. "Probably not. In fact I would bet he'd just turn it over to Starfleet Intel and go right back to work. Vulcan just isn't on his sensor screen so much."

Harnes scrolled down the display and called up another text screen. "In fact, reading over some of his very rare communications with the Medical Directorate, it's obvious this guy doesn't have a lot of respect for the folks back home. Not 'Vulcan' enough for him, I suppose."

The Director smirked slightly in response to that. "The Vulcans have always been blinkered as turnips. Still haven't adjusted to the Kir'shara after all this time. Forget the doctor, then. What's the final word on Captain Farrell and Commander Kruger?"

Harnes tapped the air again. "Well, Kruger's resignation raised a few eyebrows here and there. But from what I'm seeing rumors that he and Farrell might be knocking boots and planning to run off to Risa together don't amount to anything. Looks like Kruger's just a worn out old man looking to catch a little sun before he dies. Farrell's retirement just gave him an excuse to drop anchor."

The Director considered his subordinate for a fleeting moment. Was that a jab at him? "So they'll be out of the picture soon enough then. Assuming we can get T'Pril to Widow's Well and back without them tearing her to pieces."

"That depends on how tough she is. Lady T'Pol doesn't seem to have a lot of confidence in her daughter's discipline." Harnes eyed a second floating display, bearing an inverted snapshot of the Vulcan in question.

The Director frowned. "You're tapping the Tuckers?"

Harnes blinked. "Of course." What kind of question was that? "I've got a lot more insight on T'Pril now, too. She might turn out to be a bit of a spitfire in the end, from what I gather."

"How so? Everything the psych department tell me suggests she's a born again Surak Vulcan."

"Which, in conjunction with the emotional demands of her human half, could make her a bit unstable under the right conditions. At least, that's T'Pol's opinion. I have a long, very long, discussion here between her and some priest named Keliv at Mount Seleya concerning that."

"Conclusion?"

"Keliv suggests boxing. Let her beat up on something regularly in a way that doesn't undermine her emotional discipline. At least not overtly." Harnes shrugged.

"Well, that's the barmy. He really thinks that'll work?"

"He convinced T'Pol. Though she failed to convince T'Pril, apparently."

The Director considered for a moment. "Well, let's assume they know what they're talking about. We'll see if we can get the Dark Guard to prompt P'Trell in that direction. Maybe an Andorian martial arts regimen will do the trick. Anyone on the ship she can beat up?"

Harnes shrugged. "P'Trell himself. All that genetic tinkering ought to be worth something there."

The man nodded. "Get Butler to follow up on that. If they give him any trouble about it, remind them their agent continues breathing at our pleasure. I have no problem arranging an accident for a Tactical Officer who's loyalty to his crew isn't entirely reliable."

Harnes grinned. "Butler should enjoy that. He likes yanking their antennae." He reached and pulled one of the displays to the front, considering it with concern.

The Director noticed the agent frowning at the inverted display."What?"

"Well…something odd. And you know how 'something odd' can turn into 'hell of a damned mess' at the drop of a hat."

"Let's have it, Harnes."

"Ensign Jennifer West. Taking Kruger's place as Chief Science Officer. I'm seeing half a dozen references to her daughter, Nikki. All in personal communications to folks back home and whatnot, no official mention anywhere. Everyone seems to like her. She's 'cute', apparently."

"And?"

"Jennifer West doesn't have a daughter. No record anywhere, not to mention she hasn't been off the screen long enough to give birth."

Harnes pointed at the display. "Now, I do have one vague mention in Alpha Centauran here. From Ensign Achilla Trindi, the new Gamma shift Tactical Officer. If this translates right then West's adopted daughter has just the loveliest smile."

"Let me guess. No record of adoption either."

"Yup. Nothing. Nowhere."

The Director frowned. "Thoughts?"

"Well, I know subversion when I see it. I can only guess how specifically but I'd say…maybe this West always wanted a kid and someone kindly provided her with one?"

"Fairly thin, Harnes. Nothing stopping her from having her own. She's capable, I assume? Certainly she could adopt regardless."

Harnes shrugged. "I agree. I can't see the angle here, either. But it's a big red flag if I ever saw one. And guess where the kid is right now."

"Where?"

"No idea. Not with any relatives. Nowhere that West has communicated with in the last year nor at any location she's so much as visited in the last five. Kid doesn't seem to exist."

The Director lowered his hand at that and straightened up again. "West is definitely our dodger, then."

"I'd say so."

Harnes waited patiently for the inevitable kill order. The Director may not enjoy pulling people's strings but he'd become far more comfortable with cutting them over the years.

Malcolm Reed stared at the wall.

For three seconds, nothing occurred to him.

Finally, he shrugged. "Well, I can't think of anything, Harnes."

"Me, either. It's probably not important."

"Bugger it then."

Reed flicked the screen in front of him back on and let the intel feed begin scrolling by again. "Contact Troy and let him know I'll need him as a go between with T'Pril soon."

"Will do. I hope your old buddy doesn't rip his head off when he finds out he's our man."

"Trip's always has been a bit overprotective. A quality I admire. And yes, he likely will rip his head off. I suggest you move Troy off Alpha Centauri first."

Harnes chuckled as he rose to depart. "I'll take care of it, Director. If that's all?"

The man behind the desk only nodded, so Harnes took his cue and left.


	7. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 7

**NX-35 Vigilant - Mess Hall**

**En route to Widow's Well**

T'Pril Tucker seemed to all outward appearances to have tuned out the bustling crowd of officers in the room. Over the rim of her cup she surveyed the crew circumspectly as she took another sip of water. So far her coworkers had opted to avoid even casual conversation with her and she hadn't any interest in provoking fraternization by seeming interested.

To be honest, she had been somewhat relieved by the cold professionalism that Farrell and Kruger had treated her with over the last week. Although she knew among humans it was perceived as insulting, it made for a very comfortable working environment for her. The Beta shift bridge crew had naturally detected the hostility leveled at her by their commanding officers, even reciprocating to some extent, and responded with an admirable attention to duty. All in all, much better than she had hoped for.

As she replaced her cup and returned to her salad, her eyes flickered to the boisterous commotion at the far corner table. There the Tactical Officer and the Andorian carried on as loudly as always. While it had initially been a source of much amusement for the crew it seemed to have become an irritant over the last couple of days. From where she sat she observed the obvious signs of discomfort at the tables immediately adjacent.

Were she to be honest about it, she would have to admit she suppressed some mild discomfort herself. While her hearing wasn't quite as sensitive as the average Vulcan it was still far superior to any human's. The ongoing disagreement between the two concerning one another's parentage, personal hygiene and sexual behavior might as well have taken place right next to her. She'd had to work diligently to keep it from putting her off her meal a couple of times already.

The only exception to the overall increase in efficiency that Farrell's hostility had elicited was, of course, the Tellarite. He quite clearly found the entire situation intolerable and his attempts to prompt casual argument from the rest of bridge crew while on duty had consistently failed. Though he had at first not seemed especially concerned with the unusual circumstances of her assignment to the _Vigilant_, he'd clearly come to resent the effect her presence had on the bridge since then.

While the other officers were at least polite to her face, speaking of her in less polite terms only at the periphery of her hearing, the Tellarite, "Tuffy", had become openly rude. But at least for him that translated to a relatively civil tone and an obliging manner. Blatantly outrageous behavior among Tellarites perhaps but again conducive to a smoother, more efficient work environment on the bridge.

Overall then, T'Pril found the current situation very agreeable. It couldn't continue of course, she knew. Once their current mission had concluded the last of the remaining officers of rank would be retired or reassigned. And then she would be forced to take steps to ingratiate herself professionally with her crew as their commanding officer.

As efficient and generally comfortable as the current environment might be, she was regrettably aware that it was not at all conducive to morale for this particular crew complement. It was unfortunate but nonetheless illogical to deny the necessity of familial bonding among a predominantly human crew. She would certainly have felt dread, should she have allowed her discipline to slip so egregiously, but at least until the current mission concluded she allowed that there was little that she could do about.

Returning her attention to her meal, T'Pril finished her salad and began consuming her dessert. A simple cobbler featuring her favored _sash-savas_, it would meet certain requirements of her strictly imposed personal diet that had been neglected over the last two days. Additionally, it provided an opportunity to practice the suppression of enjoying a particularly pleasant food. The chef was quite skilled, she noted, and the challenge made for an agreeable distraction at the moment.

So distracted, she failed to notice Ensign West approaching her table until she had begun seating herself, her daughter beside her. Immediately T'Pril became concerned for the child.

Something else, something much deeper, nagged at her as well, causing her some pause. But whatever it was, it clearly wasn't important in light of the current situation. She naturally ignored the errant impulse to deal with the matter at hand.

"Ensign West," she said. "Considering the nature of the discussion taking place between Lieutenant Gaver and Ensign P'Trell, perhaps this is not an appropriate environment for Nikki at the moment."

Jennifer West, now seated across from her, frowned as she arranged her tray in front of her daughter. She hadn't expected Tucker to begin the conversation but considering the goings on across the room, she recognized that would have to be dealt with first. Afterward, thankfully, they'd at least have something to talk about. She still had no idea how she would proceed from there though.

Jenny replied. "Actually, I was just thinking the same thing. I think I'll go have a word with them. I don't know how they do things on Tellar but I'm sure Andorians don't talk like that in front of their children. And the Lieutenant should know better anyway."

T'Pril considered for a moment before deciding. "Perhaps I should speak with him in your place." She said, forestalling West's departure with one hand. "While our ranks are equivalent and I have no more latitude to correct a superior officer without consequence than you, I am already lacking in the Lieutenant's esteem. I think it would better served if I spoke with them concerning their behavior in your stead."

Jenny regarded T'Pril with some surprise. "Well…thank you, T'Pril. But really, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"This should not concern you. It is in the best interest of the crew that we remain cognizant of our surroundings at all times. This failure on Lieutenant Gaver's part illustrates a poor example for the subordinate officers here who have witnessed it and should be publicly corrected."

Jenny blinked at the odd reasoning and found she couldn't come up with a reply that wouldn't seem just as strange. So she said nothing as T'Pril pushed her chair back and stood.

"It's alright, Miss T'Pril." Said young Nikki seriously. "I don't mind."

T'Pril stared at Nikki.

For three seconds she reassessed the matter.

"Of course, if the child is not disturbed then perhaps it is best not to disrupt them." T'Pril took her seat again and picked up her fork. "Eliciting further negative opinion from the Lieutenant would not be productive at this time."

Jenny shrugged lightly. "Well, it's not as if she hasn't heard worse now and again." And smiled.

As the meal continued in silence, other than the ongoing disruption at the far corner table, Jenny considered the woman seated across from her. The ensign had been something of an enigma to all of the new arrivals and the center of much discussion among them recently. In light of the effect her appointment seemed to have had on all their careers, many had begun to adopt the hostility evident among the older crew members. Which didn't sit especially well with Jenny. Not knowing the first thing about the woman, other than her celebrity, it seemed uncomfortably prejudicial to her.

At last she spoke, "T'Pril, I understand you grew up on Alpha Centauri?"

T'Pril realized that the voicing of her unreasonable concerns had been misinterpreted. She seemed to have given West the impression she wished to engage in conversation. For a brief moment she considered politely rejecting the invitation to participate. But since the damage had already been done, it occurred to her that it would be more productive to engage. Perhaps she could at least begin laying the groundwork for the crew bonding she would be forced to engage in over the coming days.

"Yes." She said.

Jenny waited politely for a moment before finally realizing nothing more was forthcoming.

"So…is it as beautiful as I've heard?" She said at last.

T'Pril put down her fork. While she was willing to continue the conversation, she would not do so while eating.

"As I can only speculate on how beautiful you have heard Alpha Centauri to be, I will give my own impression. I have found the Centauran people have a significant appreciation for the aesthetic. In conjunction with a common preference for long term thinking, this has translated to a notable and visually pleasing symmetry in urban architecture."

Jenny stared for a moment. "Oh. Well…that's nice." She supplied weakly.

T'Pril folded her hands in lap and waited.

Jenny rushed to fill the void. "Um…so anyway, Trindi talks about you all the time. Achilla Trindi, I mean. She's the gamma shift Tactical Officer."

When T'Pril did not respond, she pressed on bravely. "I honestly didn't even realize who you were until I heard her mention it. In fact, you should probably watch out. I'm sure she's angling for an autograph as soon as she can catch up with you." She grinned.

T'Pril considered. It was obviously an attempt at levity and if she did not reciprocate in some way, the conversation would quickly become uncomfortable for West.

"I will consult with my agent. But I'm sure I can oblige her for a nominal fee."

Jenny was too surprised to react at first. The last thing she had expected was an actual attempt at humor. "Hey, that's pretty funny. But I bet you've had to deal with that sort of thing all your life though, right?"

"Not especially. At the academy my class mates were often too occupied to make much of my infamy. Prior to that I spent most of my life in the predominantly Vulcan areas of Torus, the capital city. There my parent's influence tended to overshadow such attention."

Jenny frowned a bit. "Infamy?"

T'Pril found she was a little disturbed at her own word choice. She was usually much more precise in her language. "Excuse me. Perhaps 'celebrity' would be a better word."

"Well, celebrity would certainly be right. I seem to recall your application to the academy caused quite a stir."

T'Pril remained rigid, waiting for something else to respond to. She found she didn't care much for the direction of the conversation so far. It would not be logical to delve into such personal areas of he life with someone she'd only just met.

Nikki piped in suddenly. "Miss T'Pril, how come you're not eating? Aren't you hungry any more?"

T'Pril turned to her. "I am. However, it would not be appropriate to eat while engaged in conversation."

Jenny was immediately chagrined. "Oh. T'Pril, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I mean…"

T'Pril raise one hand to halt any further babbling. "It is not a concern, West. My meal is not heated and so it can wait."

Uncomfortable anyway, Jenny continued. "I really didn't think. The Vulcans at the academy would chat over meals all the time. I guess I just forgot most of you don't care for that sort of thing."

"Few still observe a respectful silence these days. In fact, I understand it has become acceptable even on Vulcan to engage in conversation over meals, at least in public settings. Again, do not be concerned. I am prepared to adapt."

"Oh. Okay." She wasn't sure how else to respond to that. "'Old school Vulcan', they call that." Jenny smiled. _Oh, crap. Let's just go ahead and insult her now. That'll help_, she thought.

"Yes. I have heard the term. It is not perfectly accurate as it refers to a blending of two related disciplines, those of the ancient _Kir'shara _and the more conservative philosophies common prior to its recovery. Nevertheless, it is apt enough."

_Ah, well that explained a few things_. Although Jenny wasn't sure where she could go from there without tripping over a few potential landmines.

"What's a 'kirshra'?" Asked Nikki suddenly.

T'Pril regarded the child again. Still she found something nagging at the back of her mind. But again she dismissed the irrelevant distraction.

"_Kir'shara_. It refers to an ancient artifact containing the original writings of Surak. When it was recovered three decades ago it was found that the common understanding of his work had been corrupted by a variety of influences over the centuries. And so, this has had a significant influence on Vulcan culture in the intervening years."

"So, you don't like what Surak said and you want to do things like before?

Jenny was immediately aghast. "Oh, Nikki, honey. That's not very polite…"

"It is quite alright. She is somewhat correct." T'Pril said to Jenny. Returning her attention to Nikki, she replied. "In a manner of speaking. Surak's original teachings naturally take precedence. But there are aspects of the later philosophies, proscriptions and observances that are conducive to greater efficiency and emotional discipline."

Nikki stared for a moment. "So…I don't get it. Wasn't Surak right then?"

T'Pril thought for a moment. "He was. However, some simply find the…'old school Vulcan' method preferable. In most cases, admittedly, a complete and rational denial of all emotionality is not healthy, even for Vulcans. In fact, the argument could be made that such a level of denial is itself irrational. However, for some individuals this is the best approach to controlling one's behavior. In my particular case, I have found it the best for me."

"Because you're half human?"

"Correct."

Nikki considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Returning her attention to Ensign West, T'Pril noted. "You have a very intelligent child, West."

Jenny chuckled. "Yes, I know. To be honest, I'm barely able to keep up with her sometimes."

T'Pril was gathering her tray together, however. "That bodes well for her future. If you will excuse me now, I have a prodigious amount of data to collate at Captain Farrell's request."

Jenny suddenly realized her opportunity was slipping away. "Oh. Uh…Ensign Tucker…one moment…"

T'Pril hesitated, nearly prepared to rise and depart the mess hall. "Yes?"

Jenny took a breath, then expelled it uncomfortably. "Look…I didn't really sit down here just to chit chat. I had kind of hoped to discuss something with you."

"If you believe we can address the matter in two minutes or less, I am able to do so now. Otherwise we must reschedule."

"Uh…right." _Crap. To the point then_. "Well, a lot of the new arrivals are a bit concerned. Or…maybe outright anxious, actually."

T'Pril waited.

"Okay, where to begin?" Jenny considered quickly. "Look, the _Vigilant _had quite a reputation up until now. Especially at the academy we all heard the stories. The incident with the Tellarites as a recent example. The _Vigilant _has seen a lot of action. So we were all pretty excited when we got our posting."

T'Pril responded, hoping to speed things along. "Understandable. Considering the combat experience and the attention that it brings the vessel from ranking Starfleet officials, this would make the posting ideal for new recruits. Much more likely to favor later promotion."

"Right! That's just it." Jenny was relieved that she seemed to understand. "So a lot of us figured that we'd really lucked out. And on the way out to Jupiter Station it became obvious this crew was…well, pretty extraordinary. If you look at grade rankings, someone literally picked the cream of the crop from the graduating class here."

T'Pril took her hands from her tray, folding them in her lap again. She knew where this was heading. It looked as if her data collation would suffer after all.

"But now there is concern that their seemingly prodigious posting has been threatened." She supplied.

Jenny sighed. "Yes. With Captain Farrell and Lieutenant Gaver's retirement, and Lieutenant Krugers resignation, that wipes out almost all the command staff. That leaves things…well, pretty thin. And now it looks like the _Vigilant _will be 'in the rear with gear' for the foreseeable future. I mean, it's almost as if they were trying to outfit the ship with a strong crew at first, to get it back in the action…and then everything just fell apart."

T'Pril waited. Jenny decided she had better race on ahead the point.

"So…then, if you don't mind me saying so, we have you here taking command in just a few weeks. And…you haven't even gotten your Lieutenant Junior Grade pip yet. It just seems as if we're all kind of going to waste out here. And again, if you don't mind me saying so, it seems as if someone somewhere is trying to put you in position for a command very, very early. Which is great for you and all…but doesn't help _our _careers all that much."

T'Pril responded. "I understand."

"Right. And really, no offense. I'm happy for you and everything. But with the mission profile the _Vigilant _seems to be looking at over the next year…Starfleet isn't going to have much cause to notice the rest of us. A lot of the new arrivals…well, they're starting to get a little frustrated."

"West, are you asking my opinion on this matter or are you here with a proposition?"

Jenny paused. "Well I'm curious as hell what you think of this whole situation…but yes, I do have a proposition."

"Proceed."

_In for a penny, in for a pound_. "Well, I'm sure I'm not supposed to be discussing this with you, you understand. I just know I'm going to tick off a lot of people telling you this. But we've been talking. More and more of us all the time. And things are beginning to get…shaky. Some of the new crew have even been talking about forwarding a petition to Starfleet, in fact."

"And your recommendation?"

"Well, I think you should talk to them. Maybe they're all being a little arrogant but they do have a good point. We really are the cream of the crop here, the best of the entire graduating class. And we do seem to be going to waste here. I think if you can offer some reason to believe that isn't so it would go a long way toward relieving a lot of anxiety. And score you a few points with the crew you'll be commanding, too. Which…honestly, I think you really need to do."

T'Pril considered the ensign for a long moment. "Ensign West, what do you imagine I would have to say that would alleviate their concerns?"

"Well, I don't know but…" Ensign West paused. _Well, let's just cut to the chase here then_.

"Look, T'Pril. I just got off the line with Captain Schillings, Starfleet Intel. My mother's second cousin, who I haven't talked to in years. I almost didn't recognize her. I was so surprised, in fact, that I didn't realize what the conversation was all about until we disconnected."

Jenny leaned forward a bit. "And let me go ahead and admit I've become a little frustrated recently myself. Enough that I mentioned maybe requesting a transfer to another ship when get back from Widow's Well. And she was very supportive of that, offering to put in a good word for me and everything."

"The thing is…" Jenny continued. "She's always been pretty overprotective of the family. She raised quite a lot of fuss, from what I heard, when I joined up. She and my mom even have some bad blood there. Which rather causes me to wonder. Because if the _Vigilant _is going to be dropping probes and running maintenance on sensor relays for the next couple of years…why in the heck would she ever want me to transfer?"

T'Pril said nothing. Which, to West, said quite a lot.

"I think there's more to this than we've been told. I think _Vigilant _is being prepared for something specific. Something someone doesn't want made obvious to anyone who might be watching."

Jenny looked T'Pril directly in the eyes now, driving the point firmly home. "And I think, T'Pril, that you know more about that than you're letting on."


	8. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 8

**NX-35 Vigilant - Deck E Conference Room**

**Widow's Well**

T'Pril Tucker waited as Ensign P'Trell arrived at last and took a seat, joining the other four members of her shift's bridge crew already at the table. As a last few polite greetings were muttered, she approached to stand before the group and demand their attention.

"Thank you for coming." She said. "As we have only just arrived at our destination, I realize you all have duties you must attend to and that the timing of this meeting is somewhat inconvenient. In fact, I will admit this meeting should have taken place before now, for the sake of those duties. I acknowledge my failure in not addressing the issues that have presented themselves before our assignments required our full attention."

Ensign Adam Foster's hand shot up immediately.

T'Pril nodded to him. "Ensign Foster. You have a question?"

"Yeah, sort of. Commander McArthur was a little peeved about you pulling me out of engineering right now. I think he almost didn't let me come. But he did ask I report to him what this was all about."

T'Pril raised an eyebrow. "I think the reason I've called this meeting will become clear once I have been allowed to conduct it."

Foster frowned. "Well, _ma'am_, I guess I'm just asking what you wanted me to tell him. But if you're going to leave it up to me then I'll just go ahead a confirm that you've pulled us away from our duties unnecessarily."

"Okay, stow it, Adam!" Ensign Rodriguez interjected. "I want to hear what she's got to say. We don't need a big argument here and we _all _have work to do."

"So then maybe we should get back to that." Foster retorted, turning back to T'Pril. "So if you can go ahead and wrap this up, ma'am…"

T'Pril nodded, staring at Foster. "Thank you, ensign. Your interruption has illustrated exactly the attitude I intend to address here."

Turning to the others in attendance, she continued.

"At present I do not possess the rank nor the command authority to force any of you to participate in this meeting. You are free to leave at any time. I can only assure you that you will likely wish to hear what I have to say."

Foster fidgeted for a moment, clearly considering doing just that. In the end he remained seated, though he crossed his arms and frowned, expressing his intent to reject anything she had to say. With no further interruption presenting itself, T'Pril folded her hands behind her back and addressed the remaining officers.

"At present I hold the rank of ensign, as do all of you. And on the bridge I command only vicariously through LCDR Kruger's authority, as I am detailed into the position that I have been assigned. Therefore any authority I might enjoy as a command officer is illusory at best. I have neither earned nor have any reasonable expectation of your individual, personal respect or loyalty as Starfleet officers. "

Looking over the men and women seated before her, she could see that she'd gotten their attention with that admission.

"However, I must demand it nonetheless. And I will give you my reasons now, though I suspect each of you should already be aware of them. I will ask first that you call to mind the reasoning behind the chain of command we follow as Starfleet officers. And in light of that reasoning, why it is essential for the continued orderly functioning of this vessel."

"I will also confirm two rumors which have circulated recently, so that you may understand more clearly the position that each of you are in. First, Captain Farrell has been ordered to grant me a field promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade at the completion of our current mission, prior to his retirement. I will also confirm that this is to be done in order to circumvent the minimum service requirements associated with that rank."

Several of the officers responded with looks of surprise, although T'Pril was certain there was nothing she'd said so far that was not already commonly known. For her to confirm the rumor was apparently shocking to them, though she could see no logical point in denying it.

"The reason this is to be done is to provide some minimal justification for my command of the _Vigilant_. With the retirement of Captain Farrell and Lieutenant Gaver, the resignation of Lieutenant Commander Kruger and several command positions vacated by combat casualties recently, this leaves the _Vigilant _with only Lieutenant Commander McArthur, Chief Engineer, and Lieutenant Sara Quinn, Communications Officer, as ranking command officers."

"The most logical response to this by Starfleet Command would have been to replace the vacant command positions with other experienced officers of rank and simply redeploy the _Vigilant. _On the other hand, the production of the new Daedalus class has prompted Starfleet to begin pulling older NX class ships out of service entirely. And so this presents a convenient opportunity to do so with the _Vigilant_. By reassigning the remaining crew to other vessels within Starfleet, the _Vigilant _could then be decommissioned and its role assigned to a newer, more capable vessel."

"Obviously, this has not occurred. Rather it has been decided that the _Vigilant _will be reassigned as a rear echelon vessel under my command. The reason for this being my second point."

T'Pril paused for a moment, to be sure there would be no interruption and to emphasize what would come next. Taking a deep breath, she continued.

"I am sure all of you have become aware of rumors concerning the more recent Romulan pirate activity. Specifically that Starfleet and the Earth government have projected a dramatic increase in such activity in the coming years. This is, after all, the reasoning used to justify the hastening of Daedalus class ship production and deployment. It is expected that confrontations with these pirates will continue to escalate. Perhaps dramatically."

"This should already be evident to all of you. So this is not the second rumor I intend to confirm now. Rather, the rumor that my appointment was designed to curry favor with certain Vulcan political forces."

T'Pril paused again to allow a few mild exclamations to erupt. Thankfully no one interjected directly and so she continued again, if only to forestall any pointed outburst.

"Among certain key individuals and unnamed groups within the Vulcan High Command, I and my family have come to symbolize something in particular." T'Pril paused. "What exactly I will not comment on at this time. It is largely irrelevant to this discussion. But the fact remains that my appointment as commander of a Starfleet vessel has prompted certain concessions in response from the Vulcan High Command. Concessions that will allow for greater cooperation between Starfleet and Vulcan in monitoring and protecting trade routes threatened by the Romulan pirate group."

"Which places all of us in this room, as well as the entire crew complement of the _Vigilant_, in a difficult position. Once our mission at Widow's Well is concluded and we return to Jupiter Station, the _Vigilant _will find itself crewed almost entirely by officers of Ensign and Lieutenant Junior Grade rank. By all expectations Lieutenant Commander Henry McArthur should be granted command as he will be the ranking officer. But rather, he is to be commissioned as my Executive Officer."

"Likewise all of you will find yourselves assigned to command positions on the bridge, with highly experienced officers of equal and in some cases greater rank subordinate to you. An untenable situation, one would assume. Except for one point, which I believe many of you have overlooked in determining your individual responses to this situation."

Now, she noted, she had their undivided attention.

"Starfleet has taken extraordinary measures to ensure the _Vigilant _would have the resources necessary to overcome the apparent handicap our appointments represent. The crew we will supervise certainly have far greater experience than any of us here and so can reasonably be expected to resent our command. But we, both as a group and individually, represent the best Starfleet has to offer at this moment. A concerted effort by many high ranking officers in the fleet has been made to place each of you in the positions you now occupy. Quite frankly, your assumptions of having been placed here arbitrarily are completely unfounded, due most likely to each of you accepting as true the uninformed opinions of many of _Vigilant's _standing crew, rather than making your own objective assessments."

T'Pril turned quickly to Foster. "Ensign Adam Foster. You have been assigned as second to Lieutenant Commander McArthur. I assume you are familiar with the grade ranking of the other engineering officers in your class at the academy. From among them, who now holds the highest grade point average in all final testing?"

Foster look stunned for a moment, glancing self consciously at the other officers at the table. "Uh…I guess I do."

"That is correct. Furthermore, I think you are aware your scores were the highest not only of your graduating class but surpassed those of the prior _two _classes as well. And among all engineering graduates in the last ten years, easily numbering in excess of 3,000 individuals, approximately how many would you estimated have received an 'outstanding' overall report on their cadet cruise?"

Foster shifted uncomfortably. "I don't really know. Maybe a hundred?"

"Seventy-two, actually. As you should be aware, considering what this suggests concerning Starfleet's expectations of you."

Turning her attention to the officer seated next to him, T'Pril pressed on. "Ensign Helena Summers, Communications. What was your ranking among the graduates of your class?"

The petite brunette officer surprised T'Pril by actually blushing slightly. "Oh. I…ranked in the top five percent, I think."

"Your humility, while otherwise admirable ensign, is inappropriate here. You likewise outranked your entire graduating class in overall grade point average. And in all associated individual class grades as well. And, like Ensign Foster, you received a meritorious commendation following your cadet cruise."

T'Pril turned to Ensign West, the next in line. "And you, Ensign. Meritorious cadet cruise commendation, second highest ranking overall in your class, 'excellent' or 'outstanding' marks on all efficiency reports and a personal recommendation on your Starfleet jacket from Admiral Sanchez herself."

She nodded to the Flight Officer across from West. "Ensign Marisa Rodriguez. Fourth highest overall grade point average in class, 'excellent' marks on your cadet cruise, a personal recommendation from Admiral Billings and five years of prior experience as navigator aboard the civilian cargo vessel, _Blue Bell_."

To the Andorian at the table. "Ensign Rexas P'Trell. Assigned through the officer exchange program to Security Chief on the recommendation of the Andorian Imperial Guard, where you served for the last five years in security. Following six years in Intelligence and a prior four years of meritorious service in the infantry. A personal recommendation from Admiral Archer himself, recognizing your actions on Weytahn."

T'Pril spoke to the entire group again. "Your appointments, all five of you, to bridge crew positions were not made arbitrarily. And were any of you to concern yourself with an accurate assessment of the newer crew members that you will be supervising, you would find all of them likewise enjoy an exemplary standing among their peers."

"Starfleet has recognized the difficulties inherent with the concession it has been forced to make by the Earth government. And it has responded by allocating all the resources the _Vigilant _could require to respond in an outstanding manner to any challenge she might face. Even to the point of denying other vessels in the fleet access to some of the finest officers the academy has produced in the last two years. Which should suggest to you that Starfleet does not intend to waste those resources."

T'Pril now opted to place her fingertips on the surface of the table and lean forward slightly. A calculated move to project her presence and reinforce what was to follow. Not exactly an emotional display but nevertheless uncomfortably close.

"Now," Said T'Pril, preparing to wrap up her speech. "I realize that many of you, as well as many of your subordinate officers, intend to demand a reassessment of the crew assignment by Starfleet command. To the point that a petition is now being circulated to communicate that demand with force. Further, I am aware that many of you intend to request reassignment individually when we return to Jupiter Station."

T'Pril made direct eye contact with each of the five crewmen as she spoke further.

"First, I believe the petition will accomplish nothing but to serve as a possible embarrassment to Starfleet. I predict that it will otherwise be completely ignored, establishing nothing with the admiralty than to communicate to them that many of their officers are incapable of properly assessing their role in the fleet. I am tempted to recommend to the rest of the crew against signing off on this petition, for the sake of individual future career prospects. But after much consideration, I have decided not to address that point with them."

"Concerning requests for reassignment following our mission however, I _will _express my opinion. And I expect each of you to carry it forward to the crew members in your individual sections."

"By all means, feel free. In fact, any of you who wish may have my personal recommendation for reassignment. I believe you will find Starfleet will honor any such request that I append my signature to. Quite simply, if you are unable to perceive the unique position that you have been placed in and what this suggests for the _Vigilant's _future, you will have identified yourself as an impediment to Starfleet's intentions for this vessel."

"So, in closing, any of you who are here solely to satisfy your own ambitions have no place on this ship. Not only are you free to go but I will offer what aid I can in removing you. And I assure you that Starfleet Administration stands ready to assist me in accomplishing that."

"Are there any questions?"

Ensign Foster's hand, predictably, reached for the ceiling. Although T'Pril had at least expected some pause.

"Yes, ensign?" She said, facing him again.

"What exactly _are _Starfleet's intentions for this ship then?"

"Variable. As a battle proven vessel, with half the crew possessing extensive experience and the other representing the finest the academy can supply, the _Vigilant _will able to serve the fleet in any number of roles quite well. Our current mission should illustrate that, as I'll get to in a moment."

"If you'll pardon me, ma'am. That's not much of an answer."

"It is the best I am at liberty to offer. And perhaps if you displayed more insight than you have so far, ensign, a more detailed response would be unnecessary. The _Vigilant's _utility should be obvious at second glance."

Ensign Foster bristled visibly at that but didn't respond. Ensign Rodriguez, however, did.

"Okay, what _about _our mission here?" She asked. "Captain Farrell called it a 'milk run' in the briefing. Is there something we're not being told?"

T'Pril suppressed a sigh. "Again, I would advise all of you to rethink what you have so clearly assumed up to this point. I understand it is natural to look to the standing crew for their initial perceptions, especially the Captain's. But having done so, the things I have pointed out to you should then have become obvious. The same holds true for our mission here."

"Captain Farrell has chosen to treat this assignment as inconsequential. A 'milk run', as he's said. I expect all of you to exercise greater insight than that in the future. If you had conducted proper research on Widow's Well in the process of determining the demands the environment there will place on your duties, you would have quickly noted the unique tactical threat it represents. Our current upgrades in sensor systems now provide us an opportunity to reduce this potential threat."

"Ostensibly we have been tasked with investigating the disappearance of three civilian ships in the area over the last two months. However considering the environment, the habit many commercial interests have in utilizing it as a 'short cut' and the unique history of Widow's Well itself, three disappearances in a two month period is not extremely unusual. This particular singularity has claimed an average of one vessel per six month period over the last one hundred years. With humans now opening trade routes through the area, in light of their greater propensity for underestimating danger, it is not unexpected that this number would increase. All three missing vessels are owned and operated by human concerns."

Rodriguez frowned at the characterization but chose not to object.

"I realize that the lateral sensor sweep and the deployment of sensor relays at Widow's Well are presented as secondary to the investigation of these three disappearances. Nonetheless a closer examination of your orders should have revealed to you that this is in fact our primary mission. The area is recognized as an open door to incursion by forces hostile to either Earth, Andoria or Vulcan. The lateral sweep will identify any potential threats currently hiding in the well and the sensor relays will prevent any such from intruding at a later date. Despite it's being presented as a public service by Starfleet, this mission is entirely a military exercise."

To her surprise, T'Pril found Rexas asking the next question. She'd expected him to maintain a low profile during the meeting.

"And what threat does Starfleet expect to foil with this military exercise?" He asked.

"The obvious answer would be 'any threat'". She responded. "The Well presents any organized force who would care to take advantage of it with a potential staging ground for an invasion not only of Earth but almost any of her allies. However, considering the current expectation in Starfleet that the escalation of pirate activity will soon require an aggressive response, it should be obvious what has prompted this reassessment of our tactical standing."

"Romulans then." P'Trell shrugged. "So is this simply Starfleet taking the opportunity to cover their backside or do they really expect a bunch of pirates to stage an invasion?"

"If you intend to challenge me to address the matter directly, Ensign P'Trell, I have no difficulty doing so. Yes, it has become accepted among the upper echelon that the Romulan pirate forces are far more organized and, more relevant to the point, _numerous _than has been assumed so far. I am also quite certain your own government has availed themselves of details regarding the _Enterprise's _first encounter with them. Though it has never been publicly acknowledged, Starfleet is operating under the presumption that the so-called pirate attacks represent a concerted military effort to probe the defenses of the area."

"Whoa, wait a minute." Objected Summers. "Are you suggesting the Romulans are some kind of organized force, like the Orions? There's been nothing to suggest that so far, other than the first encounter you mentioned. Up to now they've just been picking off stragglers here and there on the border."

"Yes." Replied T'Pril. "And the public news media of all allied worlds has made much of Starfleet's so-called 'excuse' to field the Daedalus class. But does anyone here truly accept that they would do so if they did not believe a significant threat existed? At the last two budgetary meetings the member worlds have failed to extend emergency funds to finance the deployment. And yet Starfleet has pressed forward nonetheless, even discontinuing several other lines of production to accomplish that. What does this suggest to you?"

The group remained silent for a moment, looking at one another with concern. Finally West spoke.

"Are we actually expecting to run into Romulans out here? I mean, how likely is that?" She asked.

"I'm certain Starfleet views that as unlikely. As Ensign P'Trell has suggested, they are simply taking the opportunity to 'cover their backsides'. However, considering Captain Farrell's attitude toward the Romulans and the three encounters the _Vigilant _has had with them already, you should expect to find he is operating on that assumption."

"But he thinks this whole thing is just a 'milk run'."

"No. He has characterized it as such to you. And to me as well. But I do not believe he accepts that. He merely wishes to express distain for my appointment, characterizing this mission as such in order to lay the blame there."

Rexas broke in again. "And what do _you _think? Honestly."

T'Pril considered carefully before answering.

"If Starfleet is correct about the potential threat the Romulans pose and the supposed pirate activity is indeed a precursor to open military action…then were I an officer of any standing within the Romulan organization I would be gathering in force at Widow's Well in response to the first Daedalus class ship being deployed."

She waited as the crew digested that before deciding it best to end the meeting. The Andorian operative was clearly bent on forcing her to respond to points she would rather not just yet.

"And on that note, I believe we should convene this meeting and return to our duties. In two hours Beta shift takes the bridge and we will begin our sweep. I expect that you can all understand the situation you face and will perhaps extend the gravity of that to you subordinates. As well as my stance on reassignment requests."

Ensign Rodriguez wasn't done, though.

"Wait a minute." She said. "If there's even a possibility of some kind threat in the area, shouldn't we be running at…I don't know…maybe .3 impulse while we conduct lateral scans? With long range scanner sweeps too, for that matter."

She turned to Ensign West. "I mean, unless that's putting too much on you."

"No, no. I agree." West said before turning to T'Pril. "We definitely should. And as far as speed, I can run laterals and long range at full impulse with no problem. Heck, if I tie in with tactical we ought to be able to run at .4 or .5, wrap up the whole sweep in 24 hours. If the helm doesn't mind plotting that kind of course around a singularity."

"No, that's perfect." Rodriguez responded. "For that matter at .4 with a 24 hour goal, we can stay out where just about everything inside the well is covered, up to lateral scanner range that is. But we shouldn't run up on anything without plenty of warning."

Rexas injected. "Yes but you forget the Romulans have some kind of invisibility cloak. Assuming you can even detect them at all, you'd overrun your sensors trying to. They can park on the saucer section and evacuate their waste…"

"But they can't fire like that." Rodriguez responded stubbornly. "At .4 impulse, running full long range scanners…they'd have to drop the cloak _at range _in order to even try getting a good lock on us. I mean, right, West?"

"That's my understanding." West nodded. "Let them try. If you can hit the bright side of a moon, P'Trell, then that shouldn't given them any more of an advantage than…"

"_Tactical alert! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!"_

As the alert siren began to wail, even T'Pril blinked in surprise. And she'd been expecting it.


	9. Vigilant: Widow's Well: Chapter 9

**Tucker Engineering Company Headquarters**

**Torus City, Alpha Centauri**

Charles Tucker was beginning to get a headache.

There really wasn't a lot he could do about that. These meetings always gave him a headache. And raised his blood pressure a good bit. And generally pissed him off. But he always somehow managed to survive them anyway. One day though, probably not too much longer from now, he intended to keel over dead, right across the table with his tongue hanging out, and give these stuffy old bastards something to raise an eyebrow about.

With a quiet sigh he tuned back into the current discussion to find Savel still droning on about exports.

"…as well as increased production of the _Explorer _line. The additional features currently available have resulted in greater public interest and an agreeable increase in sales as a result. If you will consult tables 12a to 12d, you will see a breakdown over the last 18 months, compared to other models of the same line. I would therefore recommend proceeding with Stevet's research concerning the interactive computer console models in order to capitalize on this trend."

_Oh, God. Better pipe up before he gets to the buffer foils. Or we'll never get out of here._

"Right." Said Tucker. "The computer thing. And what about Valren's report on the proposed new safety standards the Elder Council are considering? Has anyone bothered to look at that?"

Tucker looked around at the stoic faces seated at the table, hoping someone else would answer.

Savel responded promptly, trying to keep Tucker's attention on his proposal. "Currently our safety record is well within the top twenty aircar production companies. I do not anticipate any difficulties. In fact the interactive models will somewhat increase…"

"Yes, except we used to be in the top ten. And Consumer Watch used to rank us number four overall."

Savel paused before replying. "A regrettable consequence of improved design technology among our Andorian rivals. However…"

"Which is a regrettable reflection on this clan. Or have we forgotten this is a clan company? Folks, why am I not hearing anything about the magnetic braking feature that T'Vel's been politely bitching about for the last two months?"

Silence. Trip sighed.

"This is a Vulcan…" Tucker slapped the table lightly, correcting himself. "Excuse me. A _predominantly _Vulcan clan. And while it's nice to be known for a variety of successful companies and whatnot, it'd be even nicer if we were known for giving a damn about our customer's safety again. So…maybe we can work a little on that? What do you say?"

Tavid spoke up at last, as Savel seemed to be having trouble coming up with a response. "I think you are correct, sir. Clearly the company has been lacking in that regard. Perhaps we should reassess funding T'Vel's research before proceeding."

"Really." Tucker continued, turning his glare to Tavid for a moment. "From what I'm reading here she's got a working prototype. Funding isn't the issue. The only thing holding her back is, I suspect, a certain someone's efforts to keep a certain _Precursor _manufacturing center attractive to certain government agencies and their contracts."

Back to Savel again with the glaring. Savel had the decency to look briefly disconcerted, at least. "Mr. Tucker, I admit that I would prefer to leave that option open, if that is possible. Considering our unique position to compete effectively…"

"Absolutely not, Savel."

"The contract is quite lucrative…"

"_Absolutely not_. Earth can go piss up a rope. They're not getting the _Precursor_. Not at any cost."

"Sir…" Now Seth was pitching in. Trip immediately dug in his heels.

_Can't give these boys an inch or I might as well just retire right now. Not that the idea was all that unappealing._

"Gentlemen, we have had this conversation before. Many times. And until both governments reverse their decision _and _issue a formal apology, it's not even open for discussion. And we all know it just ain't ever gonna happen. Even if it did, I'd probably keep on being good and pissed off just for the hell of it."

After glancing around the table, he returned to glaring directly at Savel.

"Now, unless you're planning to assassinate T'Pol and install your wife in her place, then I'm still in charge around here and there's no logic in holding up retooling that manufacturing center, is there Savel?"

Savel sighed almost imperceptibly. "That would be considerably more effort than I am prepared to expend in the interests of pursuing the contract, sir."

Down the table Tucker noted Donna Sims, director of marketing, interestingly enough, hiding a grin behind one hand. Before he could speculate over her apparent enjoyment of Savel's discomfort he suddenly sensed his mate signaling the end of her working day back home.

_Well, that's enough of this for one damned day then. _

"Very well, then I guess that's settled to everyone's satisfaction. By that I mean settled to _my _satisfaction. So let's wrap this up. I've got a hot woman and a cold beer waiting for me across town. And I'm gonna take it real personal if I'm delayed any more than necessary from enjoying either."

**********

Arriving back at home Trip entered the den to find T'Pol already waiting for him. With a beer.

"Damn, woman. You heard that all the way across town?" Trip grinned.

"I had just begun meditating at that point. The bond is always more receptive then." She replied. "Which can be unfortunate, as that is usually when you are most aggravated. And prone to speak inappropriately concerning matters of intimacy."

"Aww, I'm getting old. Those guys get on my nerves more and more every day." He said, accepting the bottle she offered, gratefully. "Few more years I'll be whacking people with a walking cane."

T'Pol began leading him toward the couch. Sitting with him there, she replied. "I think you have two or three years yet until we reach that unfortunate day."

Sipping his beer, with a pause to properly enjoy the moment, he turned his eyes back to T'Pol. He could tell she'd enjoyed the experience vicariously through their bond. Which was the only way she ever would. She hated the stuff.

"And what about you? I think I picked up on a little something here and there. What was that all about?"

"An interesting situation with T'Man's daughter T'Son…and there is nothing unusual about those names."

Trip expressed his internal humor with a broad grin. "Are you kidding? They're hilarious! I still can't believe you won't admit it!" He slapped his knee, chuckling.

"If you insist." T'Pol said, holding out her hand almost unconsciously, her first two fingers extended. They put the concerns of the day out of mind for a few moments, luxuriating in the comfort of their bond.

"Hmm." Trip mumbled eventually. "So what's what with old Sonny? I've heard there's some kind of rumor going around but I'm guessing it's something the men folk don't talk about."

"Her time has come and gone. She is now six months overdue. Doctors confirm a rare condition rendering her exempt."

That got Trip's attention. "You're kidding. I didn't think that was possible."

"It seems it is, though it is extremely rare. This is the first occurrence that I've ever been aware of personally."

"So wait a minute. What's T'Man expect _you _to do about it?"

"It is treatable. But with T'Son's promised mate deceased before they could bond she shows no interest in pursuing treatment. Or bonding, for that matter. Probably as a result of her condition." T'Pol hesitated. "T'Man requests that I order her to accept treatment. The prospect of her only daughter failing to reproduce is extremely disagreeable to her."

Trip laughed again. The whole thing struck him as ridiculous…at first. Until he began considering all the ramifications. Eventually he became quite serious.

"My God. That's…terrible. I can't imagine being in that situation."

"I agree. Although I would spare our daughters if I could, I would not wish to do so at the expense of either reproduction or bonding. Certainly not both. However, I believe the decision would be theirs and not mine."

"So you're not going to? Make Sonny do it, I mean?"

"I have already spoken to her. She will agree to accept treatment if I insist but she clearly prefers not to."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I am still considering the matter. Although I don't think I can justify using my authority to coerce T'Son into any decision she is not agreeable to. Hopefully something else will present itself. If not, I think I will only offer my advice. To accept the treatment for the sake of the clan."

Trip frowned. "I don't know, darlin'. I don't think I'd want our daughters to go get cured if they had whatever that is. Pon'Farr is a freakin' nightmare the first couple of times."

"It is…extremely traumatic at first, yes. But the condition comes with a price. A significant likelihood of developing uncontrollable emotionality following the third or fourth cycle, for approximately 44.2 percent of those effected."

Trip grunted unhappily and covered his eyes. "Jeez, you guys just can't around it, can you?"

"Several thousand years of research have failed to discover an acceptable alternative."

"Well, as much as I hate to admit it I guess it's better our kids don't have it then. If only 'cause…_hey_." Trip suddenly looked at his wife with suspicion. "Why the heck are you talking to me about this? This is clan stuff. _Female _clan stuff."

"So that you will be obligated to discuss the 'male stuff' I was made privy to during your meeting today."

Trip's eyes danced back and forth for a moment before he suddenly realized what she meant.

"Oh, no. Come on, T'Pol. Darling, I do _not _want to have this argument again."

"Your position is unreasonable. The contract is extremely lucrative and would open up many job opportunities for the younger members of our clan."

"Yes. Off planet. On _Earth_."

"Of course."

"T'Pol…we came out here in the first place because there was nowhere else to go. Vulcan flew into a tizzy when we refused to sever our bond. And Earth capitulated on principle by refusing to recognize our marriage!"

"Times have changed, _ashayam_. The same environment of irrational hostility no longer exists. In fact, of the three worlds the one now afflicted with a significant xenophobic element is Alpha Centauri."

"And yet both still refuse to admit they were wrong. Even with inter-species couples popping up all over the damned place on both worlds today! _They're _perfectly acceptable! Hell, there's a reality show on the net right now about a Human/Andorian couple in Los Angeles! It's _entertainment_! But _our _bond is _still _not on the books at the Vulcan High Command!"

"We need only appeal there in person to correct that oversight."

Trip had enough. He leapt to his feet. "I'll be damned if I go begging to the High Command! To hell with them and _to hell with Earth_!"

"_Ashayam_, calm yourself."

"To hell with being calm, too! This is _my _decision, T'Pol, and I've made it. No company in this clan will have any dealings with either government so long as I live! And that's final! I swore right to Gardner's face and I by God damned well meant it!"

T'Pol's eyes narrowed. "And you still do not recognize that sentiment is as hatefully irrational as Terra Prime's ever were. A sentiment that has driven your daughter..."

As Trip stared in shock T'Pol closed her eyes and stifled herself. Though he was only able to detect a fleeting afterimage of the emotions she was suppressing, her meaning was still clear.

"Are you…are you saying that's somehow _my _damned fault, T'Pol?"

"I do not mean her decision to join Starfleet." She muttered.

"Me either. I know exactly what you're talking about. You mean it's my fault she's gone Vulcan."

"An insulting turn of phrase, Trip. But, no. The deciding incident there was her assault on Steven Aikers."

"So what the hell exactly _are _you suggesting here?"

T'Pol rose in appeal. "_Ashayam_, forgive my outburst. My emotional control continues…"

"And don't try to change the damned subject, T'Pol!"

T'Pol took a deep breath. _Fine, then_.

"Very well. If you insist on becoming irrational, then so be it. Your continued preoccupation with the past, specifically your anger at both home worlds and your hatred for a now defunct terrorist organization, have instilled in T'Pril a distrust of her humanity over the years. These were the only examples of them she had until her early teens, except only for you. The incident with Steven Aikers merely brought the matter to crisis."

Trip was abruptly hurt, his anger evaporating instantly on the pain she had inflicted. But she carried on. It was long overdue.

"Yet at the same time you refused to recognize what her desperate grasping at Vulcan discipline represented. Instead you insisted she embrace her humanity, the very thing she feared, rather than encouraging her to let go her fear."

T'Pol spoke more softly now, aware through their bond that he was dangerously close to behaving irrationally.

"She was afraid, _adun_. And you were unable to help her because you refused to validate it. Because you are still angry with me for doing exactly the opposite and causing the damage that prompted our bond."

Trip left the room without another word, his shields slamming into place so harshly it seemed almost audible.


	10. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 10

**NX-35 Vigilant - Armory**

**Widow's Well**

As P'Trell dashed through the door to the armory, he found Tuffy already busy at the control console. Spotting the blue blur at the corner of his eye, the Tactical Officer immediately jabbed a stubby finger toward the port loading platform.

"It sticks. Don't let it." He ordered, never taking his eyes from the console before him.

P'Trell rushed to the platform, finding the two security officers there already sliding another torpedo into place. From the wisp of coolant that flashed briefly across the tube he knew the _Vigilant _had already fired, at least once. When the torpedo ahead of him immediately caught on something unseen, the two officers began struggled with it a bit. P'Trell continued forward, using his momentum to drive one foot forcefully against the torpedo's tail section. The two loaders spared him a glance of shock but the damned torpedo slid quickly into place.

_Kinky chain_, he thought. _Had the same problem on the 'Sharev'. These men should have replaced the damned thing already_.

He was relieved when the two abandoned the loader and had the torpedo locked in before he could get his balance from the kick. Good work. Every second counted in a fight and it certainly seemed _Vigilant _had found one.

P'Trell frowned, though. Whoever they were shooting at didn't seem to be shooting back too diligently. They hadn't even taken the first hit, nor had he detected any particular effort to maneuver abruptly. Which meant the _Vigilant _had either already knocked down her opponent…or she was in serious trouble.

Silence, suddenly. No one was moving, everyone poised to jump quickly when the next round of torpedoes dropped through the tube…

Several seconds passed and P'Trell began to frown. The ship was _still _barely moving.

"Tuffy, what the hell is your captain playing at?" He snarled.

Tuffy raised one hand, his eyes still locked on the console before him. _Wait for it…_

P'Trell waited. Ten more seconds. Fifteen…

"_Stand down tactical alert. Section chiefs submit reports". _

That's it? Well, that was anti-climatic. P'Trell glanced around at the security officers in the armory as they sighed collectively in relief. The _Vigilant _must have gotten off one hell of a first strike. He stepped aside as everyone started rushing about to stand down their stations.

"What are we shooting at, Tuffy?" He asked.

"Beats me. But we knocked it out quick enough, eh?" Tuffy turned around, grinning. "This girl's got a hell of a lot of fight in her, doesn't she?" The Tactical Officer smacked this console beside him affectionately one good time.

Rexas grinned. "Well, I guess she does. For a human ship, anyway."

Tuffy roared with laughter, even louder than usual. Still full of adrenaline, Rexas guessed. "For a _human _ship, eh? Don't play hard to get, you old whore! I told you she could crack hulls two at a time!"

Rexas chuckled, then suddenly realized…

"Tuffy, what are you doing down here?! Shouldn't you be on the bridge?"

Tuffy shrugged broadly, though P'Trell could see concern behind his eyes. "I just stepped off to fetch a report. So of course all hell breaks lose. Kruger must have manned the board." Tuffy lumbered down the short steps from the platform and slapped his hands together sharply.

"All right, then!" He announced in booming voice. "Funs over, now let's get to work. Johnson, get your skinny ass on the racks. And Landry! Where are you supposed to be right now, you imbecile?!"

P'Trell, lacking any particular duty at the moment, was forced to start dodging immediately as a half dozen humans around him suddenly got busy. He slipped and darted to the doors before he was able to finally get out of everyone's way. There he reflected for a moment, shaking his head in wonder. The Tactical Officer hadn't even been on the bridge and, from what he understood, they still didn't have a regular Helmsman on the Alpha shift. And yet they'd engaged…well, _someone_…and smacked them down before they could even get a good shot off. It was almost intimidating.

Behind him the armory door slid open. At a glance, he spotted Ensign T'Pril stepping through.

"Ensign." He said with a nod. "Miss all the fun?"

T'Pril regarded him with detachment. "I would not characterize a combat action as 'fun', Ensign. But I understand a Tactical Officer might do so."

P'Trell chuckled before he asked. "Why aren't _you _on the bridge? Hell, isn't _anyone _flying this thing?"

"I was sent to retrieve Lieutenant Gaver. But I will wait until he has completed…"

"I'm done here!" Tuffy yelled from across the Armory. "And the reek of incompetence in this room is giving me a headache, anyway!"

Approaching the two at the door, Tuffy spoke to T'Pril. "So what's the situation, Ensign?"

T'Pril hesitated, then stepped back through the door, forcing Tuffy to follow her outside. There she proceeded with him toward the bridge, noting with some concern that the Andorian was tagging along.

As they made for the lift, she reported to the Lieutenant Gaver. "Apparently I…'missed all the fun'. When I arrived on the bridge the captain immediately ordered me to summon you, remarking that you had likely taken position in the Armory. However, from what I was able to gather Lieutenant Commander Kruger had detected a displacement that the Captain identified as a Romulan bird of prey. When I arrived they had already exchanged fire. I was able to intuit nothing else before departing to find you."

"Well, then. Let's get on up there and see what's going on."

**********

Arriving on the bridge Tuffy marched straight for the tactical station where Kruger still stood. "What's what, Kruger?"

Kruger responded gruffly, rising to get out of the way. "Just take your station, Tuffy."

T'Pril noticed immediately the oppressive tension hanging about the room. Immediately she noticed LCDR McArthur just outside the lift. He must have just arrived as well, as he hadn't been present earlier. He looked somewhat confused.

At the communications console T'Pril noted Lieutenant Quinn leaning over her console, one hand over her mouth in an expression of horror. T'Pril immediately reasoned it unlikely the attack had provoked that reaction from her, as her jacket noted several combat actions in her past. Clearly something else had occurred in the interim, profound enough to disturb the woman.

T'Pril suddenly wondered if someone hadn't made a significant mistake here. With only Captain Farrell, Kruger and Quinn monitoring the bridge at the time of the attack, that would not be especially surprising. But considering their apparently resounding victory in whatever action they'd just engaged in, she had to wonder what would provoke the emotional reaction Quinn was displaying at the moment.

Captain Farrell was glaring at them, she noted, showing clear signs of emotional disturbance himself. T'Pril was prompted to recall that humans were prone to such behavior following intense danger. Usually a delayed reaction, as such situations precluded expelling excess tension until after the threat had passed.

"McArthur, get on down to engineering and get me that status report first hand." The Captain grumbled, almost distractedly. "T'Pril, you've got bridge duty in an hour. Go find yourself something productive to do until then. P'Trell, Armory could use an OIC right now. Get your ass on down there…"

McArthur interrupted, confusion evident in his voice. "Captain, you want me in engineering _now_?"

Farrell surprised her with his sudden, vicious snap. "You heard me, Lieutenant! Get your ass down there and get me that report!"

Turning to T'Pril and Rexas, he barked. "And you two, off the bridge. Double quick!"

McArthur had already stepped back into the lift, anger and confusion evident on his face. P'Trell stepped back as well, making room for him to enter. T'Pril, however, hesitated.

"Captain, perhaps we should be briefed on…"

"_Now_, Ensign!"

There didn't appear to be any other appropriate response, so T'Pril stepped back and cycled the door. As it closed Lieutenant Gaver's eyes caught hers from across the room and she noted the look of confusion there as well.

**********

"What the hell was that?" P'Trell wondered aloud.

McArthur expelled a sigh of frustration. "Forget it. Captain's just shook up a bit. Be glad he waited until _after _the fight to get pissy."

T'Pril nodded to herself, her suspicions confirmed. Indeed, it appeared the captain had delayed any irrational behavior until after the action had concluded. No less than she expected from an experienced human officer but she was admittedly relieved to witness it first hand. Captain Farrell had a reputation for decisive action in several engagements over the years after all. Hardly something an emotional human could hope to accomplish without the ability to at least delay pointless outburst.

But P'Trell only grinned. "Someone dropped a ball, I think."

McArthur took immediate offense. "Dropped _the _ball. And you can bet everyone on that bridge performed exceptionally, _Ensign_."

"Oh, I merely speculate, Commander. A ship to ship battle with only a three man bridge crew is quite impressive. But something obviously angered the captain. You think maybe the communications officer accidentally surrendered or something?" He chuckled.

McArthur turned around swiftly to confront P'Trell. "Ensign, I don't know how they do things in the Imperial Guard but on this ship I'll expect you to keep such speculation to yourself. The last thing we need is the _Tactical Officer _second guessing the actions of the bridge crew. Following a combat action, no less. Am I understood?"

P'Trell's eyes narrowed noticeably. "Understood…Commander." He responded, coldly.

T'Pril began assessing possible responses to a violent altercation in the close confines of the lift.

Stepping closer, face to face with P'Trell, McArthur spoke just as coldly. "Are we going to have a problem, P'Trell?"

At that the Andorian grinned wickedly. "I seriously doubt it."

T'Pril decided now would be a good time to test her authority with the two men. Though she didn't technically possess any just yet, both men were aware she would soon enough.

"I think that is quite enough." She spoke sharply. "While some emotional disturbance is to be expected from the bridge crew immediately following a combat action, I expect officers not directly involved to be able to control their behavior."

Both men turned to her, somewhat shocked. To her complete lack of surprise it was P'Trell that immediately rose to the challenge.

"Correct me if I'm mistaken but you haven't any authority here just yet, _Ensign_."

"Not as yet. But I have a reasonably reliable memory." She responded. "If you either of you intend to test that, then proceed with your altercation. I assure you I will bear in mind your failure to conduct yourselves in a manner expected of Starfleet officers."

That seemed to settle the matter, she noted. Both men leaned back from one another's personal space at least, though they continued to glare at each other. After a moment McArthur turned his back on Rexas without another word, waiting for the doors to open.

When they did, it was to deck E. McArthur stepped out to head for engineering, leaving T'Pril alone with the Andorian. He spared her a departing glare, she noticed, but she was nonetheless grateful he hadn't challenged her action. He could easily have done so and, in retrospect, she suddenly wondered why he had chosen not to.

T'Pril waited as the door closed again. She had no doubt P'Trell wasn't finished baiting her.

Presently he sighed. "I suppose I should apologize. Haven't quite adjusted to this place, I think."

That nearly provoked an eyebrow from her. She hadn't expected contrition at all. The man was proving difficult to predict.

"Given all relevant circumstances, I think your behavior is understandable. I do not believe it warrants further examination."

"Hmm." Rexas responded simply.

As the lift approached deck F, he mused aloud. "I wonder why the man backed down, though. I expected he wouldn't take that from you. That's half the reason I said something, so we'd end up standing together to shoot _you _down."

As she turned to reassess him, he smiled. "Appearances to the contrary, I'm not a complete idiot. I wasn't especially interested in pissing off a Lieutenant Commander today." He chuckled.

T'Pril considered that for a moment before asking. "Then why did you continue to provoke him?"

As the lift doors opened, he shrugged. "I was curious about just how loyal these officers are to their captain. So as to gauge the difficulty you…and _I_, for that matter…will be facing here." P'Trell stepped off the lift before glancing back at her.

"Apparently…quite a bit." With a smile, he turned away down the corridor.

The doors closed. As she considered what P'Trell had implied, she hit the button for deck E. She was well aware that the crew of the ship were firmly entrenched in their support of the captain. And, specifically, _against _her imminent command. She wondered why P'Trell seemed to think this was news to her.

By the time the lift arrived and she exited to head for her quarters, she realized P'Trell had lied. And not especially well, for that matter. He hadn't been testing Commander McArthur at all. He'd been testing her.


	11. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 11

**NX-35 Vigilant - Bridge**

**Widow's Well**

T'Pril exited the lift, precisely on time for her duty shift. Immediately she noticed her crew had arrived ahead of her and reasoned that they'd reported early, probably hoping for gossip concerning the encounter with the Romulan aggressor. Captain Farrell, Kruger and Quinn were gathered at the captain's chair, facing one another but apparently not speaking. When he noticed her arrival, Farrell immediately nodded to the other two officers and turned to her.

"Ensign, you have the chair. I'll be in the ready room." With that he followed the other two officers who, she was surprised to note, were headed for the ready room ahead of him rather than toward the lift.

Turning to her duties, T'Pril spoke first to Ensign Rodriguez. "Report."

"We're in the pipe, lined up for our sweep." Marisa fidgeted a little. "Um…if we're going with West's plan though, we really should shift out about a hundred thousand more clicks or so…"

T'Pril turned to West. "Ensign?"

"Full lateral and long range scans up and running. No contacts but the Well's really playing hell with us. A lot more interference than I expected and it's bending long range scans all out of whack. Give me a minute to tweak it a bit more."

Turning back to Rodriguez she said. "When West recovers some confidence in her sensor returns, maneuver out to the orbit you recommended earlier and engage engines at .4 impulse for our sweep."

She continued. "Ensign P'Trell, report."

"I'm running standard diagnostics on tactical systems. Tuffy didn't get around to it, I suppose. Everything's green so far."

"Report when your diagnostics are complete. Where is Lieutenant Gaver at the moment?" He hadn't been in evidence when she entered.

"Down in the armory. Which is good for me, if you don't mind. He knows his business down there."

T'Pril nodded agreement and turned to Summers at Communications. "Ensign?"

"Terrible interference here, too. I'm getting nasty static on all channels. If you're ready to launch relay 1 and 2, I can sure use the bounce back to clean things up a bit."

"Proceed and do so."

After a pause Ensign Summers announced. "1 and 2 away…I have a signal…good and strong. Let me work with the comm…okay, that's better…but I don't like it. I'll keep working on it."

"Very well. Ensign Foster?"

"We're good here. I'll be a lot more comfortable when we're further out but as long as we're not bouncing off the event horizon, we should be fine. Engineering's all green."

T'Pril nodded.

Summers spoke up again immediately. "Shall I begin broadcasting a standard search and rescue hail?"

T'Pril wasn't at all comfortable announcing their presence all over the Well but their orders were clear. They were supposedly here to search for missing civilian vessels, after all. And they were pinging active sensors off everything in the universe anyway.

"Yes. Restrict it to civilian standard however."

"Won't stop the Romulans from pinpointing us." P'Trell remarked.

"Nevertheless. It would be preferable not to appear aware of any threat. And our presence should already be obvious."

"I think I've got the best signal I can here." West announced. "Not great but the best we can do. I doubt anyone else floating around in here has done as well, though."

"Tactical's all green." said P'Trell.

"Very well. Ensign Rodriguez proceed."

Marisa's hands danced across her console. "Orbit in…three minutes. Course laid in and ready to go."

T'Pril moved to the far side of the helm before turning to face the bridge crew, her hands folded at her back. _Let them get used to seeing this. This is my 'pay attention or else' stance. _

"Let us be cognizant of the situation we face here. Considering the attack we suffered immediately upon our arrival, in all likelihood other hostiles are present within the Well. Our mission requires a full circuit of the singularity, possibly placing us in position to be detected by hostile forces anywhere at anytime."

"Most likely the destruction of the previous vessel went undetected but we cannot count on this. Likewise we cannot assume our current sensor system will allow us to detect any other enemy vessels before we are detected in turn. We must assume they are already aware of us and are prepared to react accordingly."

"We have been tasked with seeking any sign of the three vessels that disappeared in this area recently, as well as conducting full, accurate scans of the area and deploying a full complement of sensor relays precisely around the Well. All while remaining prepared to respond effectively to a possible threat."

"But you are the best Starfleet Academy has to offer. I lack no confidence in your ability to perform well in all aspects of this task. Mind your duties, remain alert and we will all complete this mission successfully."

Turning back to the captain's chair she seated herself there and called up the current sensor returns.

Immediately she noticed something odd. Unfortunate that she had to disrupt the drama her speech had likely elicited in the crew but…

"Ensign West…"

"Yes, I saw that. I think the captain locked down the sensor logs or something."

"Are you unable to call up anything prior to now?"

"I started a separate log when I arrived, just out of habit. It didn't occur to me they'd actually locked them down until now, though. I had assumed they simply routed sensors to tactical in the fight, being short handed up here. I have everything after that point on _my _log but nothing before that…"

P'Trell offered. "Nothing here."

West began working her console again. "I'm accessing the Science Lab now to…well, hell. They're definitely locked down, from here on the bridge. Nothing in science either. Everything's going straight to a secure log."

T'Pril rose. "I will speak with the captain. West, you have the chair." She approached the ready room door.

**********

When she was finally granted permission to enter, T'Pril immediately noticed Lieutenant Quinn had been crying at some point recently. Though she turned away before T'Pril got more than a fleeting glimpse, the signs were obvious. Captain Farrell and Commander Kruger both stood nearby, arms folded.

"What is it, ensign?" Farrell snapped. Apparently he was still disturbed from the attack earlier.

"Ensign West has noted the sensor logs have been locked…"

"Yes, so?"

T'Pril raised an eyebrow. "This makes it impossible to access…"

"Did she begin a station log?"

"Yes, captain."

"Outstanding. So I suppose you have everything in hand. Dismissed." Farrell turned back to face Quinn again.

"Captain, if you will excuse me, locking the sensor logs is highly irregular…"

"We're a little busy here, ensign." He snapped, over one shoulder. "If West is running a station log, as she damned out to, then you have everything you need."

"We are unable to access sensor data _prior _to beginning our sweep, captain."

Captain Farrell spun around. "And what the hell difference does _that _make?"

"To our current mission, no discernible difference. Nevertheless,…"

"If you find yourself bored with your duties already, ensign, there's always that mountain of personnel reports you still haven't completed." Captain Farrell was plainly furious now. "Otherwise, get the hell out of here and back to the bridge where you can accomplish something! _Dismissed_."

T'Pril nodded and left. Clearly there were personal issues being dealt with, human emotional issues, that were interfering with the three officer's duties. It would seem there would be no working with the captain until he'd resolved them.

T'Pril was discouraged to reflect on the significant handicap that human emotionality represented to an orderly and efficient working environment. She resolved that under her command personal issues would not be allowed such latitude. She knew very well that humans could defer distractions of that sort when properly motivated to do so. It simply remained for her to so motivate them.

**********

Nearly an hour later the three ranking officers had since left the ready room…and the bridge. T'Pril was both relieved and somewhat concerned to find herself entirely in charge for the first time, without at least Kruger looking over her shoulder. Still…better that than any further outbursts occurring on the bridge, distracting the crew from their duty stations. Thankfully, none of the bridge crew had yet expressed concern at the lack of oversight.

Nonetheless, she found the captain's decision to abandon the bridge in a potentially hostile environment…questionable. At least.

As she observed the sensor data streaming by on the screen at her right hand, she noticed Summers cock her head and place one hand to her earpiece. T'Pril turned her attention to the Communications Officer.

"I'm…getting something here…" Summers began manipulating her console. "Distress signal, automated maybe…off sensor relay 2."

T'Pril raised an eyebrow at that. Summers had apparently been piggy backing communications off the sensor relays, which would represent quite an admirable feat. After a few moments, she decided to prompt the officer.

"Ensign?"

"Can't make out the call sign. Repeating, definitely automated. No response to return hails." Summers suddenly look aghast. "Oh, God. That's right off relay 2. Can't be more than a fifty thousand klicks with this interference…"

She turned to T'Pril, stunned. "We must have passed right by them half an hour ago."

T'Pril rose, looking left to the Science station where West was already working furiously. A muttered "_here…tap into this…_" from Tactical informed her the two had begun pooling resources automatically to track the source of the distress call.

"..no…need albedo…"

"…try…right, filter that…"

"…can you tweak it?…no, the other way…"

T'Pril waited patiently. It would not be logical to interrupt the apparent congruence the two were displaying, despite her errant impulse to demand an immediate answer. She blamed her surprise at the situation for that. It had never occurred to her that they might actually find any of the ships they were pretending to look for. It was a black hole, after all.

"Got it!" West exclaimed at last. "Range 100k…_behind _us…civilian research vessel, DI class. I'm seeing some massive structural damage, though."

"'_Stardancer'_, I think." Summers chipped in, dividing her attention between the incoming distress signal and the ship manifest on her console screen. "Looks like…private research company vessel…one of the three we're looking for. Presumed missing as of six months ago."

"Visual, West?" Demanded T'Pril.

"Somewhat. Not very clear, though." T'Pril turned to the main view screen as the ship appeared. The damage was immediately obvious despite the extremely grainy image, with nearly the entire rear section missing. A hole had been struck straight through the midsection just to the right of that as well. Clearly, the vessel had come under attack. The designation '_Stardancer' _was legible across the bridge section.

"From the debris vectors I'm looking at, this ship didn't come under attack six months ago. More like two hours ago. Maybe less, even." West announced.

"Helm, plot a course for intercept. Foster, can we warp at this distance from the Well?"

"Negative on warp." Replied Foster.

"Very well. Full impulse, Helm, engage when ready. Any response to hails, Summers?"

"Still nothing. I'll keep trying."

"Tactical alert?" P'Trell inquired.

T'Pril pondered that one for a moment. "Not at this time."

From the communications station, suddenly. "_Stardancer, _this is _Vigilant_. Say again?"

T'Pril turned her attention there.

"Negative, _Stardancer_. Do not copy. Can you repeat?" Summers listened intently for a moment before looking at T'Pril. "I've got someone…but they're not making any sense."

"Uh…I'm not getting any life signs off that ship. At least not at this range." Supplied West from the Science Station.

"Helm, range and time to intercept?"

"85k, 22 minutes." Rodriguez replied.

That was well within sensor range. "West?"

"Nothing." Jenny gestured helplessly. "The Well's still pitching a fit but I should be reading something, now that I know where to look."

"Ensign Summers, what are you receiving exactly?"

"Just…begging for help. Something about…the air? Responsive but not answering questions. Definitely coming from the _Stardancer_, though. It's a tight beam microwave, which would be pretty hard to fake."

"Tactical alert?" Asked P'Trell again.

"Negative." T'Pril thought quietly for a long moment, while the remaining bridge crew waited impatiently.

"West, sensors." She queried at last.

"All clear, no other contacts."

"Helm?"

"70k, 18 minutes."

"Helm, bring us to 5k, then full stop. Tactical, polarize hull plating. Do not issue an alert until ordered."

**********

"_Stardancer, Vigilant_. Repeat, do _not _evacuate. Your starboard corridor is open to space, do you copy?"

T'Pril turned from the ongoing failure to communicate between Summers and whatever irrational person was occupying the vessel directly ahead. Or perhaps _not _occupying. That still remained in question.

"Still nothing, West?" She asked.

"I'm looking right at the bridge and there's nothing alive in there. I don't how I can be reading this wrong." Jennifer West shook her head emphatically.

"The microwave transmitter on that ship is running hot." Ensign Foster supplied. "It's definitely transmitting in the open. Maybe someone's tied into it somehow from somewhere else…?"

Ensign Summers objected from the communication station. "I can't see how. I'm not getting anything remotely like bleed over from some other incoming…wait, say again, _Stardancer_?…Negative! Do _not _evacuate."

Finally she removed her earpiece in disgust for a moment. "For love of… I don't know what's wrong with this guy but he's been suffocating to death for twenty damned minutes." She sighed with frustration before jamming the comm back to her ear. "_Stardancer, Vigilant_. Can you transmit your…? Negative, _Stardancer_. You are not under attack. This is the _Vigilant_, Starfleet vessel. Do you copy?"

T'Pril turned to P'Trell. "Contact engineering. Have them prepare a shuttle to retrieve the survivor. Request that Major Morales provide a MACO escort and secure a medic from sickbay as well. You will accompany them."

P'Trell reached for his console to obey but paused in the process. "Do you want me to notify the captain?"

Everyone was suddenly focused on her, well aware that the command staff had been kept out of the loop up to this point. T'Pril turned her attention to the main view screen and the wreckage there. "That will not be necessary. Captain Farrell is otherwise occupied. I will report to him when there is something to report."

"I would think a possible survivor worth reporting." P'Trell said clearly.

"Duly noted. You may do so if you feel it necessary. After you have contacted engineering and arranged for a team to retrieve the survivor."

P'Trell shrugged and grinned, tapping the console before him. "Not my call to make."


	12. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 12

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

Lieutenant Sara J. Quinn stumbled into the mess hall, too tired to hardly focus on the space in front of her and still too stricken to dare going back to sleep. She'd tried, of course. It was the only way to get away from Farrell and Kruger. Bastards! But that damned nightmare…

She made for the beverage dispenser. As crazy as it might have sounded to someone else, a warm cup of coffee had always helped her sleep. It had become something of a ritual for her, she supposed. After every tense confrontation or outright battle the ship had been through she'd had trouble sleeping. So she'd have herself a good old fashioned cup of coffee, clear her head a bit and eventually, finally get some sleep. If only an hour or two.

She was disappointed to find McArthur still hadn't fix the voice interface. She could understand the thing got on his nerves…heck, she didn't care for it either…but the kludged together keypad he'd tacked to the panel was just plain ugly. And was that an actual exposed wire sticking out of there? One was tempted to wonder if the rumors were true, concerning the cook and the chief engineer's little love interest back on Risa. Of course, Risa…well she'd probably been a _professional _love interest. But still, if true, the rumors would certainly help explain _this _monstrosity. She'd seen Henry tack together some truly butt-ugly contraptions in her time but this thing looked like it was ugly _on purpose_.

Retrieving the cup of coffee she'd finally managed to negotiate from the dispenser, she realized that whole line of thought hadn't distracted her at all from that nightmare. All those children she imagined, blasted and sucked out into space…She screwed her eyes shut, which didn't help put the image out of her mind in the slightest. The cup in her hands was clutched so tightly that some part of her feared it would fracture. She couldn't know if there had been any children on that ship. And…dammit, anyway! It wasn't even her fault!

Opening her eyes and pulling the little cup of warmth to her chest, she moved to the nearest table to sit…at which point she noticed Nikki West at the viewport across from her, staring out into space. Sitting down with her coffee she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from the kid. Try as she might she couldn't prevent cute little Nikki's face suddenly appearing on half the screaming children in her mind.

Until Nikki looked over at her.

"Hey." She said shyly, stroking her doll's hair.

"Hey, Nikki. What are you up to, kid?" Sara toyed with her coffee cup briefly, suddenly unable to find the perfect spot for it on the table.

Nikki had turned back to the viewpoint. "Lookin' at the hole."

Sara's brow furrowed. "The black hole you mean? Honey, you can't see it. They're invisible, did you know?"

"Yeah, but you can see it pullin' if you look real careful."

Now she was curious, of course. So Sara picked up her cup, which didn't appear to be comfortable anywhere on the table anyway, and joined Nikki at the viewpoint. After a good long look she had to admit…she couldn't see anything at all.

"I don't see anything, sweetie."

"It's okay. It's not very pretty anyways." Said Nikki.

Sara grinned at that. "So why are you staring at it?"

"It's scary." Nikki frowned, a very unhappy frown.

Sara's heart suddenly broke a little. It had been so long since she'd actually talked to a child of any age, she found herself unprepared for how protective they could make you feel.

"Oh, Nikki, sweetie. There's nothing to be scared of. I promise you." She smiled at the girl when she looked up at her. "_Vigilant _can run rings around that old thing. Don't you worry."

Sara was surprised to find herself stroking the girl's hair. Pretty much the way the girl did with her doll most of the time.

"Okay, miss Quinn." Nikki pressed her lips together tightly. Not quite a smile but close enough for Starfleet.

Sara stood looking through the view point with the little girl for a while longer. She'd stopped stroking her hair but she couldn't help resting one hand on her shoulder. She really didn't want little Nikki to feel scared.

"Hey." She said, as a thought occurred to her. "Have you ever had hot chocolate?"

Nikki looked up at her again. "I heard of it. But I never had some."

"Well, we'll just have to fix that. No little girl should have to go her whole life without ever having some hot chocolate." She tapped Nikki on the nose, eliciting the beautiful smile that had won over half the crew already.

"You wait right here. I'll go get us some." Smiling a little, she headed back to the dispenser, deciding she'd trade in her coffee while she was at it. But with a glance back she saw that Nikki was already staring sadly out the viewport again. _Oh, well. This'll fix that right up_, she thought. Sara realized then that she felt kind of…peaceful at that moment, probably just from having something _nice _to focus on for a change. She didn't even mind the little challenge of trying to convince the darned beverage dispenser into give her hot chocolate.

With the first cup was done, as she worked on the second, Nikki spoke behind her.

"Miss Quinn?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"There's children in the Well."

Sara startled and nearly dropped the cup, spilling hot chocolate on her hand. Spinning around, she could only stammer. "Wha…_what _did you say?"

Nikki was staring back at her, more solemnly than she'd ever seen a child stare. "There's children in there. And other people, too."

Nikki turned back to gaze sadly through the viewport again, clutching her doll to her chest.

"And it just keeps pullin'. It don't ever let them go." She said. "Not ever."

Sara could only stare in horror.

"Not never, ever."

**********

"…so all the escape pods were still there, EVA suits too…but no crew. No bodies either. It was like everyone just disappeared."

In the rear section of the shuttle Private Miles droned on with his tale and at a glance Morales could see the medic, Bailey, was completely enthralled. He considered breaking it up for a moment but…hell, let them distract themselves for a minute. He'd break them off when they got a little closer to the _Stardancer_.

Corporal Stetson broke in. "Okay, wait. How could the ship still be orbiting the Well after all that time? The g-variable out here is pretty wild."

"Well, that's part of the mystery. Who was manning the helm up to that point? And what happened to them? The _Pashar _didn't find a thing. No clue at all."

"Airlocks." P'Trell suddenly spoke up from the station across from Morales. He could see the Andorian's attention remained fixed on his console, though.

"What's that?" Bailey asked, not quite hearing P'Trell from where he sat.

The Andorian spoke over his shoulder, a little more clearly. "Airlocks. Someone went cave bug, killed the crew, tossed them out the airlocks. Then went for a walk themselves."

"Cave bug?" Asked Miles.

P'Trell's stared into space for a moment before he could find the right phrase. "Ah. 'Cabin fever', you call it."

Miles frowned. "Oh, come on. How likely is that? One person going nuts and killing the whole crew? Leaving no clue what happened?"

P'Trell shrugged, distractedly. "Happens all the time. Probably the whole crew went mad, if any one of them did. And as for 'no clue' being found, if you checked the record you'd probably find there were plenty of clues. Just not enough to support an _official _ruling."

Miles was a little miffed at having his ghost story undermined though. "Okay, well what about all the other weird stuff that's happened out here? You have to admit the Well's got a creepy reputation."

"Space is a 'creepy' place, Corporal." P'Trell replied simply. "You'll find that most experienced spacers will agree. We were never really meant to be out here."

That got Morales attention. "That's a strange thing for a career Guardsman to say."

P'Trell grinned over at him. "Not at all. Maybe we should never have gone to space but the fact remains, we did. And so the Imperial Guard has its purpose. And does Starfleet, I suppose." He shrugged.

Bailey seemed to have heard that clearly enough, though. "You sound like a Tehmarite." She said.

P'Trell's antennae dipped forward in surprise as he turned back to respond. "I didn't know you were so familiar with my people, Bailey."

Bailey smiled self-consciously, "Saw a documentary one time. Not much to do in Sickbay most days."

Morales asked, "Tehmarite?"

It was Bailey who answered, though P'Trell listened with interest. "A religious sect of some kind. Agitated against space exploration at first. Still do, I think. I admit I'm not really clear on it but I think they believed space was some kind of hell or something."

P'Trell returned attention to his station's readouts, smirking. "A little more pragmatic than that but essentially correct. My grandfather was one. I suppose it…'rubbed off on me' a little. And it certainly is a kind of hell, if you think about it. Take a walk outside if you doubt _that_."

He continued after a short pause. "Tehmar was supposedly a great warrior. Purely mythical most likely, of course. He was said to have climbed Mount _Shikeer _to challenge Death to a dual. Along the way he met a demon from the stars, that warned him…"

"_Vigilant, Shuttle One_. Approaching _Stardancer_, 500 meters." Ensign Hsaio announced from the pilot's station up front.

"_Copy, Shuttle One. Stand by for vectors."_

Right, back to business. Morales tapped his earpiece, opening the channel with the two MACO in the rear.

"Alright. Tea party's over. Check gear, prep for insertion. We're hoppin'." Morales announced.

**********

"…_looks like…starboard airlock's warped a bit. Swinging around to port."_

On the main view screen T'Pril watched the shuttle dart up, slightly ahead of the bridge, maneuvering across to the far side. Tapping the open channel bar, she spoke.

"Shuttle One, Command. Are you able to see into the bridge through the viewports on your present vector?"

"_Vigilant, roger that. It's dark but I can make out console lights…a bit of the deck plating. No movement. Searchlights?"_

"Affirmative. Continue to port, however."

"_Vigilant, understood."_

Onscreen the bridge crew could see the white beam from the shuttle now playing across the _Stardancer's _fore, peering into the viewports dotting the bridge section as it passed by.

"_Vigilant, no movement. I'm seeing…wait one…thought I saw something. Nothing seen. Shall I angle for a better view? Not getting a very good look at the bridge on this vector."_

"Negative, Shuttle One. Continue to port."

"_Vigilant, copy…at port. Looks like…port airlock is warped as well. We'll have to cut through. Acknowledge?"_

T'Pril simply nodded to Ensign Summers, then turned to approach the Science Station for a better look at the scanner return.

"Shuttle One, Vigilant." Replied Summers over the comm. "Go ahead with breach. Secure entrance and defer to MACO. Eyes on, Hsaio." Which meant, 'keep talking so we know what the heck's going on over there'.

"_Vigilant, we are docking…" _A light 'thump' was heard over the comm. "_Contact…solid seal, green lights…Stetson's working._"

"Ensign Summers." Said T'Pril. "Any further contact from the survivor?"

"Nothing since Shuttle One launched." Summers shook her head. "I don't know if the guy…

"_Whoa…what the…Vigilant, be advised. We have negative pressure at breach." _Ensign Hsaio announced with alarm.

T'Pril moved quickly back to the communications console. When nothing further came through, she tapped the open channel bar again. "Shuttle One, report."

"_Wait one."_

T'Pril waited patiently, though she could sense the tension in the room around her elevate sharply as the seconds ticked by.

"_Vigilant, strike my last. We're reading pressure at .2, oxygen 18%, trace toxins. Can we get an approximate volume on the bridge and connected areas?"_

"Shuttle One, Command. Are you considering routing through shuttle life support?"

"_Vigilant, roger that. If we're just looking at the bridge area, I think we can manage it."_

T'Pril looked over at Ensign West, who responded merely with a 'thumbs up' without taking her eyes off her console.

"Shuttle One, Science confirms. Proceed."

"_Vigilant, copy. Proceeding."_

**********

"Alright." Announced Morales. "Stetson, point. P'Trell, you're with me. Miles, hug the medic."

Stetson took position at the airlock before turning his eyes to the major, waiting for the nod. Morales looked back to the pilot, who took a second glance at the screen in front of him.

"We're good here, Major." Hsaio announced.

Morales then nodded to Stetson, who promptly kicked the airlock door loose from the last thin sliver of metal holding it in place. A curl of smoke wafted through but beyond, only darkness. Morales could detect the dim glare of a still functioning console somewhere in the background but nothing else.

Corporal Stetson leaned forward, producing a flashlight from the harness at his waist. He had one foot raised to step through the airlock when a pale form appeared out of nowhere, reaching for him with one trembling hand.

Stetson jerked back, startled. "Jeez…!"

"_Help_…" The figure rasped faintly, before collapsing, almost in slow motion, across the threshold.

Four lights sprang forward to illuminate the man now sprawling through the door. His uniform, once perhaps a sky blue, now torn and dirty grey. Disheveled and sickeningly pale, the man continued reaching out blindly, seeking someone or something to grasp.

"_Help…me…" _The man gasped, choking.

"Out of the way!" Demanded Bailey, scanner in hand. The MACO parted quickly.

"Get him in here." Commanded Morales, gesturing to Stetson. "Rear deck..."

"No! I don't want to move him yet." Snapped Bailey, scanning the groaning man.

Miles smiled, muttering. "He was moving just fine a second ago. Huh, Stetson?"

"Bite it, Miles."

Bailey frowned, shaking his scanner. "Something's interfering…" He sighed sharply. "Alright let's get him inside after all."

The two MACO were already stepping up to drag the man inside as Morales looked to P'Trell.

"Okay, you and me." He said.

P'Trell nodded back, frowning. He moved up with Morales to wait for the crush in the airlock to clear out of the way.

"_Shuttle One, Vigilant. Code comm."_

Ensign Hsaio tapped out the command, switching to a secure, encrypted channel.

"_Vigilant, Shuttle One_. Go ahead."

"_Shuttle One, abort mission. Return to Vigilant immediately."_

Hsaio's eyebrows shot up at that but he responded quickly. "_Vigilant_, copy. En route in ten."

Already tapping at the console, Hsaio took command again. Over his shoulder, he announced to the men now frowning behind him. "Alright, you heard it. We're out of here. Lock it up."

**********

As the airlock opened, Bailey could hear the uproar going on in the shuttle bay outside as he and the MACO rushed the survivor through on a stretcher.

"…to know a damned Romulan trap when you see one! If you'd bothered to inform anyone you were engaged in _a goddamned rescue op _I could have told you as much! We've seen this before, ensign! And now we're sitting ducks for a bird of prey to park right off our ass end while we dick around…"

To his surprise Bailey found not Doctor Sulok but two security officers waiting for them.

"We'll take it from here, Bailey." Said the first man. At Bailey's stunned look, he shrugged helplessly. "Orders. Sorry."

As the security team took his place, opposite the MACO on their end of the stretcher, Bailey turned to find Commander Kruger still barking at the obviously undisturbed T'Pril.

"…back up to the ready room and you _wait there _until Captain Farrell can get this situation sewed up enough to bust your ass himself! Now, you _move_!"

As T'Pril turned to exit the bay, Kruger barely glanced over Bailey before issuing orders to the security team. "Straight to the brig and you two keep him under guard there until I arrive."

Bailey was still in shock but he managed to exclaim at last. "Commander! We need to get that man in sickbay! We don't know if…"

"You report to sickbay, Ensign." Kruger replied shortly. And with that he left Bailey alone in the bay, wondering what in the world was going on.

**********

"I've ordered Ensign Rodriguez back on course." Captain Farrell said flatly. "Good call on the route you and your crew came up with, by the way. We'll be continuing with that over the next 24 hours. Ensign West is running full lateral and long range scans, and we're continuing at .4 impulse. Relays three through six have already been deployed."

T'Pril said nothing, remaining stiffly at attention. Farrell folded his arms before continuing.

"The survivor you recovered is on his way to brig by now, until Kruger can figure out whether he was in collusion with someone else or forced into the situation against his will. Or whatever the case might be. Luckily whoever was behind this seems to have missed their shot. With a little more luck maybe we can catch them off guard still further."

"Unfortunately, on its current drift the _Stardancer _will likely make the acquaintance of the local event horizon before anyone can get back out here for a proper going over. But considering the potentially hostile situation we're facing here we can't afford to sit still long enough to investigate further."

Captain Farrell stared at her for a moment. T'Pril remained silent.

"So let's get to the question here. I'll confirm first that your response to the situation was more or less by the book, at least overall. But I'd like to hear why you failed to go to alert status the moment you determined the _Stardancer _had come under recent attack."

T'Pril could easily have prevaricated, said what she was certain the captain wanted to hear. But she was simply unwilling to do so, whatever the consequence. It was the logical course. So she answered without hesitation.

"Considering the estimated time of the attack, as relayed to me by the Science Officer, as well as the location and drift of the _Stardancer _when first detected, I determined that it was significantly more likely the vessel had come under attack by the _Vigilant _than by any other vessel. Considering _Vigilant _herself engaged in combat action at approximately the time of _Stardancer's _destruction, receiving no discernible return fire, this reinforced that determination."

Captain Farrell stared but otherwise did not react, so T'Pril carried on.

"With sensor logs prior to Beta shift locked by you I was unable to examine details of the incident to determine what exactly had occurred. Therefore I proceeded on the assumption that yourself, Lieutenant Commander Kruger and Lieutenant Quinn engaged and disabled the _Stardancer_, for reasons unknown, conspiring thereafter to conceal your culpability in the destruction of a civilian vessel. Based on that it would have been counterproductive to issue a tactical alert, summoning the command staff in question and allowing them to assume command, as they could be expected to act contrary to the interests of Starfleet to conceal evidence of their actions. As I was confident in the abilities of the standing bridge crew to conduct…"

"That's enough, ensign." Captain Farrell said flatly.

After a moment the captain turned away, rubbing one free hand on his forehead. Eventually, he returned his attention back to T'Pril, still at attention.

"Ensign, I suppose I can see how you might have come to that conclusion. If you were a paranoid lunatic."

He approached closer, clearly attempting intimidation by exercising his greater height over her. T'Pril was, of course, unimpressed. Glaring down at her, he continued.

"But if you think that bizarre story is ever going to fly then I suppose I'm forced to question your logic." Farrell smirked slightly now.

"Now, if you want to go forward with that, then feel free. But as it stands now, thanks more to your actions than any other, it will soon be impossible for anyone to ever determine what happened here. Had you followed protocol you would have ordered a tactical alert. Then I would indeed have taken command, approaching the _Stardancer _at _under _2k to recover the survivor and kept the _Vigilant _mobile. And we would have been prepared enough for any attack that we could have risked pulling that ship out of the Well, rather than being forced to abandon the wreck to fall back from a bad tactical position."

"So if that's the report you intend to submit, then go right ahead. I admit I'll be fine with you handing me your head on a silver platter. Because I can promise you it'll be the last report you ever submit as a Starfleet officer. In fact, I should just copy your report myself, along with my recommendation that you be summarily discharged. Which I suppose I should submit the moment we can reestablish subspace comm."

"But…considering how well you've performed otherwise so far, I'm willing to give you a second chance here. Maybe this was all just a fluke."

Captain Farrel shrugged. "Maybe that old school Vulcan logic of yours just jumped track a bit. I've seen Vulcans come to some pretty damned screwy conclusions now and again. Yet they always seem to pull their fat out of the fire and get the job done in the end. So we'll see where you go from here."

Farrell nodded to T'Pril. "Now you're going to go on back out there and finish your shift in the chair. And I'm going to head to the brig to oversee Kruger's interrogation of our prisoner. Where I expect to be notified if you decide to so much as scratch your ass sideways. Then we're all going to work together to finish our 'sweep and deploy' successfully. And when we get back to Jupiter Station, we'll see…"

The door chime sounded.

Captain Farrell lowered his head, failing to completely stifle a curse, before announcing. "Come in."

From the corner of her eye T'Pril could see the door slide open and Lieutenant Gaver enter.

"What is it, Tuffy?" Farrell seethed.

The Lieutenant, T'Pril noticed, was highly agitated himself, his eyes wide and posture rigid. "I just came from sickbay. Quinn's down there, some kind of mental breakdown. Doc's with her."

Captain Farrell nearly jerked in shock. "What? What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know. But she's got a lot to say all of a sudden."

Farrell was already heading for the door, T'Pril forgotten. "Let's go."

"I don't think so, captain. Not just yet." Tuffy replied stiffly. "You and I have something to talk about."

Captain Farrell stopped short at the door, turning back to the Tactical Officer. "And what's that supposed to mean, Tuffy?"

Lieutenant Gaver waited for a moment, then turned to T'Pril. "Ensign, you're dismissed."

T'Pril recognized the situation playing out before her and exited the ready room without a word. On the bridge the crew of ensigns she'd practically led in mutiny stared at her as she took the chair again, clearly expecting some proclamation concerning the circumstances they faced. T'Pril had nothing to say, focusing on her duties instead and working diligently to keep the crew busy at theirs.

Though she couldn't be entirely certain, she was confident the humans on the bridge couldn't discern the argument escalating in the ready room. Unbeknownst to her, P'Trell's hearing was every bit as sharp as her own.


	13. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 13

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

In the Deck G Main Guest Quarters, Nikki West sat on the couch in the dark. Looking out through the walls of the ship she kept vigil, watching the big hole in space and the people that spun around it, always trying so hard to get away. This was the only place on the ship really for when you wanted to be alone. Except the Jeffries tubes. And she wasn't supposed to go in there.

Nikki ran her fingers through Dolly's hair and fretted. Everything had been fine at first. Everyone liked her and they were always busy doing such interesting things. She especially liked the reaction chamber in engineering. No matter how deep you looked there was always something different going on in there. She could probably watch it for hours if she didn't get in the way all the time.

She'd tried to make it not _matter _anymore at first…but it did anyway. If one of the people went away and did something else instead, then later everyone would just get really busy because of it. So she got in the way all over again. There was always the walkway up above, that she could swing her legs a bit from and look down. But even there she was in the way sometimes if people started getting really, really busy. And you couldn't see it right from up there.

But it didn't matter anymore anyway. Nikki frowned sadly. The Well pulled on _everything_, all the time. No matter where she looked it was pulling. Even on her. Even on Dolly.

Nikki wanted very much to make it go away. But she just couldn't.

To her right a golden glow began to shine in the air. Nikki looked up to watch the light coalesce above the couch beside her until it began to solidify a bit, growing arms, legs and head. In a moment the glow faded, leaving only the form sitting beside her.

"Hi, Two." Nikki said.

"Hello, Nikki. It's very good to see you."

Nikki smiled. Everyone liked it when she smiled, so she thought Two might like it too.

"Mommy bought me a dolly before we left. I didn't get to show you. Do you like her?" Nikki displayed Dolly proudly.

"She's very pretty. Have you named her?"

"I just call her Dolly. I don't think it matters because everyone likes that name. And she likes it. She's very practical." Nikki cradled her dolly in her lap again.

"She likes cartoons and she likes blueberry pancakes with blueberry syrup. I'm going to find her a new dress at Jupiter Station, though. She doesn't like the checkered one and she can't wear this one _all _the time."

"Do you enjoy caring for Dolly?"

"Uh huh. She's a good girl." She nodded confidently.

Nikki frowned a little, fretful again. "She's scared of the Well, though. She doesn't like it here. Are we leaving soon, Two?"

"I'm very sorry, little one. There are things that have to happen first. But do not be afraid. We will take care of Dolly. And you as well. We won't allow anything bad to happen to either of you."

"Okay." Nikki said, still frowning a bit.

Nikki and Two sat quietly together for a while, gazing through the walls at the terrible hole in the universe.

"Two?" She said at last.

"Yes, Nikki?"

"Everyone's upset."

"I know, Nikki. That's very sad."

"Does it _have _to be?"

"Yes, little one. I'm afraid it does."

"Okay."

Two looked down at Nikki and smiled reassuringly.

"Be brave, little Nikki. For a while longer. And then you'll see that when very bad things happen, very good things can follow after them. That is where good things come from."

Nikki looked up at Two thoughtfully.

"If I…did something bad…would that make a good thing?"

"It could. What have you done that was bad?"

Nikki turned to her dolly, stroking her hair for comfort. "I made Miss Quinn cry." She said softly.

She turned quickly in appeal, looking very sorry. "I didn't mean to. I think she had a nightmare."

Two smiled. "Be at peace, little Nikki. You did not make Miss Quinn have a nightmare. She was already afraid and that is what made her cry. Perhaps something good will come from that as well."

"It scared me." Said Nikki. "I didn't think she would cry. I thought…"

"What did you think, Nikki?"

"She's a Lieutenant. And she's from the _bridge_. I thought she would fix it." Nikki frowned.

"I'm afraid the Well is too big for her to fix, little Nikki. But I'm sure she would have if she could."

"But _you _can fix it, can't you?"

"We can fix it. And perhaps one day we will. Perhaps _you _will. But for now it has to be."

Two placed one hand on Nikki's knee and smiled kindly.

"Nikki. I must go soon. But I came to see how you were. It's good to see you've done well."

Nikki didn't want Two to leave but she knew he'd be close by. Sort of.

"Okay, Two. It's not hard as I thought. I'm okay." Nikki smiled again. That always made people feel better. And she didn't want Two to feel bad.

"And how is your mother? Do you like her?"

Nikki brightened. "Oh, I like love her very much. She's a good mom. She reads me bedtime stories every night and she hugs me all the time and she taught me how to tickle. That was _lots _of fun. Did you know you can be tickled on your feet? And she gave me Dolly. Did I tell you? And she changed my hair. I hope you don't mind. Do you? It's better this way. But she's very strict and doesn't let me stay up at all and I have to tag the late shows and she doesn't let me eat too much chocolate…oh…"

Nikki frowned. "I forgot."

"What did you forget, Nikki?"

"I…broke the view screen. I was spinning, like an orbit? And I was spinning with the pole from the restroom because I wanted to have a moon. And it slipped. I made a rogue moon. And it broke the view screen."

Nikki was very sorry and wanted very much for Two to know that.

"That's unfortunate. How did your mother react to that?"

"I was supposed to get a spanking. Because I was already supposed to not spin the pole in our quarters."

"And were you disciplined?"

Nikki knew that Two already knew. But she wanted to say it anyway. And she wanted him to say it would be okay.

"No." Nikki said, very sadly. "I cheated. I changed her mind but I promised really, really hard not to never do it again."

"I see."

"I won't either! I really promise. I just keep forgetting. I was forgetting not to spin with the pole and I was forgetting not to cheat. I do try really hard not to forget."

"I think it would have been better not to forget and thus not require discipline. Do you agree, Nikki?"

"Yes." Said Nikki miserably.

"Be at peace, little one. Forgetting is part of who you are now. Do you remember when we talked about adaptation and growth?"

"Uh huh."

"This is a part of that. Forgetting is something you must adapt to. And you must grow and learn to forget less."

"Okay."

"And also, not to cheat."

"I won't. I promise!"

"That is very good, Nikki."

Two smiled at Nikki and placed his hand lovingly on her head.

"I must go now, Nikki. But I will see you again. For now, continue to grow. Be good and do well. We are all very proud of you and we love you very much."

"Okay, Two. I will."

Two began to glow, his form flowing into the golden cloud of light he'd arrived as.

"Two?"

"Yes, Nikki?"

"When you come back, remind me to show you Dolly's new dress? In case I forget. I hope it's very pretty."

"I will, little one. I hope the dress is pretty as well. Goodbye, Nikki."

"Bye, Two."

And he was gone.

**********

**"Harmony" Tavern**

**Torus City, Alpha Centauri**

Trip Tucker was a real son of a bitch.

He knew it, he accepted it, didn't see much point in denying it. He sure as hell didn't like being confronted with it on such a regular basis, though.

Searching the amber depths of the _Sunrise Song _in his glass, he couldn't find any solutions waiting to jump out at him. Sure was a good drink, though. When the heck did he start drinking these things, anyway? Oh…right. _T'Pol _had introduced him. And he was pretty sure she hadn't even liked them. She just knew that _he _would.

Their bond was a hell of a thing sometimes.

Didn't stop him from being such a son of a bitch, though. If it could do _that_…well, it would sure make up for some of the less positive aspects. Like T'Pol poking around in his head, trying to figure out where he was just then. Damned woman was tenacious as a hound dog sometimes. He didn't want to be found just yet but…he was starting to get a little drunk. Just a matter of time before he slipped up and she'd have him pinned down. Then she'd come haulin' ass across town like gangbusters.

And then she'd be hauling his drunk ass out of a bar. And everyone would stare, wondering what that foxy lady was doing with that old bum. And then she'd fuss over him until he vomited on something. And _then _she'd get mad and make him go sleep it off.

What the hell had he been thinking coming here anyway? He'd known he was going to end up drinking. And these damned _Sunrise Songs _really sneak up yah. God, could he maybe stop screwing up for five damned minutes?

When it came right down to it, Trip figured he must just be cursed. It was the only thing that made sense. He was cursed to drive all the women in his life slap crazy. It'd been proven time and again.

There was T'Pol of course. He'd just about driven her to a Vulcan monastery before it was all over. And by the time he'd figured how completely around the bend, bughouse crazy he'd made her, it was too late. Control centers of her brain so burned out that she'd bonded with him without even realizing it. And being a good little Vulcan, she'd stuck to it rather than running off and having him cut out of her head. Because that's what a good bondmate does, of course.

Trip ordered another _Sunrise Song_, raising an imaginary toast to his beloved when it arrived. Never mind how we got here, 'cause we're here. Let's just make the best of it. That there's some logic for yah, right darlin'?

Well, hell. Let's just go back a ways. There's Ah'len, who'd barely met him when she up and got him pregnant. He had no doubt she was out there somewhere right now still wondering what the hell came over her. And, oh, let's not forget Kaitaama. A _princess_, for crying out loud, who jumped his bones in a _swamp_. Yeah, _that's _rational behavior.

The congenitor, Charles. And sure, maybe that didn't exactly qualify, seeing as how she wasn't even really female, but she sure _acted _female. If you want an example of good old Trip driving some poor lady right off the wall, well there you go. Doesn't get much better than that.

Oh, dammit. Now he was starting to tear up. In a minute he'd be that _blubbering _old drunk bum at the bar…

Well, now, let's hold our horses and back on up here. There was Kimberly, too. Can't forget that one. His _secretary_. And ain't _that _just hilarious? Here we have old Trip driving _two _women wacky at _the same time_. And hell, he hadn't meant to lead her on. Never even occurred to him she was interested…well, okay. Maybe he _sorta _knew. Hell, T'Pol had even warned him but he hadn't listened. Then she gotten too pissed off to do anything more than…well, be pissed off at him. He sure as hell hadn't expected Kimberly to _make a pass _at him at the party like that, though. Sure hadn't seen that one coming.

And, Good Lord, the bond had lit up like fireworks. He'd barely been able to sputter out a warning that maybe she oughta not be acting like that with a married fellah like him…before T'Pol came bursting in the room looking to murder somebody. Holy smokes, he damned near hadn't been able to pull her off the poor girl. Still had the scar on his shoulder where she'd bit him. Which she _still _won't admit to! Who the heck _else _could have took a bite out of him, he'd like to know.

Trip still figured the girl got off lucky. If T'Pol had her way she'd _still _be in traction. And of course he'd had to foot the medical bill. _And _Centauran law didn't recognize any special privilege when it came to Vulcan bonds. Didn't even recognize the bond at all, come to think of it. They'd been lucky enough to have registered as married when they first got here. They had almost decided not to. That at least bought some leniency in sentencing. But T'Pol had still spent two months in jail before the lawyers could get her off the hook.

Trip signaled the barkeep for another drink. That had not been a great time to be bonded to a Vulcan, he recalled. Not at all.

Well, anyway. Just jump on ahead to Lizzie. The oldest of _three_, which just meant he'd be driving the other two crazy when they got a little older. So, you know, there's that to look forward to.

Trip put his face in his hands and sighed. What the hell was the matter with him? He'd known what Lizzie must have been going through but he kept on pushing anyway. But, hell…he'd been _scared_. Lizzie was his baby girl. It scared him right silly that his daughter might be crazy just from _being his daughter_. Before he'd even had a chance to _make _her crazy. He was so scared that she would dive head first at Surak's feet that he'd pushed…and pushed…and _pushed_. Until she'd done just that. Just to get away from _him_, probably.

Even T'Pol was predicting an imminent core breach there. And she knew what she was talking about. If anybody knew more about all the incompatibilities of Vulcan and human psychology…well, he'd sure like to know who. T'Pol had that one nailed, from personal experience even.

Trip raised his head and signaled to the barkeeper. Let's have another down here, good sir. If we're gonna get drunk and throw up all over T'Pol when she gets here…well, let's just do it right.

**********

T'Pol dashed from the cab as the second man sailed through the door to land on the sidewalk. Bleeding from the mouth, she could see. From the commotion going on inside she knew there was still more violence occurring within, quite a lot of it apparently…and her bondmate was in there. Very drunk. And angry.

And…_loud_.

She realized it had been _him _she'd heard inside the establishment as the cab had pulled up. Now she could at least make out some of what he was yelling, though his speech was alarmingly slurred.

"…rest o' you _som'bitches_! I'mma tear you a new…g'back, you! Who a'hell yer dealin' wif…_oowk_!"

From the phantom pain at her cheek she knew Trip had been struck. Now her blood was hot, her ears burning. She was already through the door looking for whoever was responsible so she could…_harm _them before she was able to gain control of herself again. Apparently her husband's inebriation was effecting her own behavior, so she resolved to exercise greater control in order to compensate. With a deep breath she summoned calm and reassessed the situation from a more rational perspective.

With a graceful sidestep she made room for the bouncer tossing another rabble rouser from the bar. Her eyes scanned the dim interior rapidly, searching for the core of the brawling mob. Most likely this is where her mate would be found. She would extricate him and tend to him once they were clear of danger.

There. Wielding the chair, protecting the young man behind him. He was injured.

He's _bleeding_.

From _his face_!

Insane fury washed over her and her vision went red.

_I will kill everyone in this despicable place! They are all sons of bitches!_

With an audible snarl T'Pol shrugged off her coat and snatched up a bar stool. With three steps and two vicious swings she'd nearly broken a clear path to her husband before she felt the pinch at her shoulder and hit the floor.


	14. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 14

**"**_**Beau Devoir" **_**Business Park - Office Unit 13**

**Paris, France**

As the meeting droned on Malcolm Reed found himself dividing his attention between the gathering of 'directors' on one screen and the intel ticker scrolling by on the other. These virtual conferences were a rarity but he'd always found them a little distasteful. While he couldn't bring himself to make any claim to innocence, that didn't stop him from feeling some mild discomfort with those whom he shared a chair on the board. Still, with each of them overseeing various cells that could easily end up working in opposition to one another, _some _measure of administration was a regrettable necessity.

With Henderson still on the subject of the Tellarite Isolationists, Reed treated himself to a little woolgathering. That situation hadn't any impact on his concerns at the moment so he could afford the distraction.

He would never in a million years have imagined he'd spend his twilight years like this. In fact, had anyone even suggested such a thing, he'd have certainly been tempted to respond with violence. But Harris had played him masterfully, he had to admit. Allowing him the latitude that he had following the Klingon incident, Reed had naturally submitted his full loyalty entirely to Starfleet. Something Harris had consistently failed to elicit from him. It had been a simple matter then to subvert that loyalty to the Section.

Terra Prime had presented itself as the perfect vehicle, of course. Though Reed was sure something else would have come along eventually for Harris to snare him with. The lure of an alternative, profoundly _effective_, vehicle with which to respond to that threat had been irresistible. He had to admit further that he'd taken remarkable pleasure it putting them down. The affront both to humanity's standing on the galactic stage as well as to, far more importantly to him at the time, two people he considered more dear to him than family…

It still made him a little uncomfortable but he couldn't quite bring himself to repent of the first kill order he'd ever issued.

The first of many, it pained him to acknowledge. And following that it had only required one or two similar situations dropped in his lap before Harris had him firmly in the fold again. It wasn't too very long before Reed found himself as invested in the Section as he'd ever been with Starfleet. And after that…well, who else could he trust to take Harris' place on the board? He was almost ashamed to recall how he'd practically jumped at the opportunity when it had been presented it to him.

Reed suddenly realized Caruthers had taken over and returned at least part of his attention to the discussion. Some of it impacted his concerns and he already had something in mind to present on that front.

"…our contacts in the Earth news media as well. The corruption charges governor Smithers is facing and the mass murder over in Beijing are dominating the headlines at the moment. I'm a little concerned that our influence over media focus may fade before _Vigilant _is able to make contact again."

Obviously Caruthers was angling back toward Reed's sphere of influence. Probably hoping to minimize the embarrassment the subversion of his agent on Mars had caused him. He would have warned the man to rotate that assignment if he thought the twit would take anyone else's advice.

"Yes, of course." Reed broke in. "And we need _Vigilant _entirely out of the spotlight for the foreseeable future. I'm won't object again to the entire bloody mess but I will remind us all that it's certainly a public relations nightmare for Starfleet, if the media gets around to it. Never mind that it's sowed quite a bit of dissention in the ranks already. And I'm sure Smith can expound on the diplomatic shambles he's weathered in the last week."

"I agree that the entire situation is a powder keg, but that discussion has become pointless." Smith responded. "And besides, if the Romulan threat escalates as expected, that'll provide all the distraction any of us could require. Quite a hell of a lot more than I'd like, in fact."

"Yes, so let's stay on topic." Demanded Caruthers. "Sooner or later the media's going to have nothing better to tantalize the public with than questions concerning Starfleet's administrative decisions. They're already having a field day with suggestions concerning the Daedalus and 'imperialistic tendencies'. This will tie in nicely to cast further doubt on the entire organization. Precisely what we do _not _need at this time."

"What we need is something else for them to distract themselves with, naturally." Reed suggested. "Something that, compared to the ranking aboard the _Vigilant_, and especially T'Pril Tucker's celebrity status, is simply more…titillating."

Whitmore chimed in at that, with a snort. "Well, I'm surprised to hear you say that, Reed. Not your usual style."

Reed frowned. "Think what you will, Jake. I'm not partial to the antics the rest of you take such pleasure in but I'll do whatever is necessary here." He turned the attention back to Caruthers. "Now as I understand it _you _require some manner of justification for further intelligence intervention on Mars, is that right? If only to lay hands on that dodgy agent of yours."

Caruthers was visibly discomfited at that but jumped at the apparent support Reed had just offered him. "Well, we're looking at a real possibility of local agitators organizing…"

"Yes, of course." Reed interrupted. "So you'll benefit just as much from a blow up in your area. Now as I understand it, there's a nice little embassy there with a woefully lacking security setup. Which, if I'm not mistaken, has also developed a bit of leak recently. Now, some of the activists giving you such a bother have expressed…well, rather an aggressive bent. Correct?"

Caruthers considered for a moment. "Yes, that's certainly doable. And I imagine that will cause exactly the kind of public outrage we could both capitalize on here. That leak will require a pretty big plug, though."

"Certainly. And so a little nudge in the right…" Reed interrupted again, intending to press forward with his proposal.

Until he suddenly realized just what was scrolling by on the intel screen. He turned his attention fully there for a moment, tapping the link to call up the video display associated with it.

"Oh, bloody hell."

After a moment Whitmore was curious enough to demand an explanation. "Yes, what is it, Reed?"

With a grimace Reed tapped the console before him, copying the live subspace news feed to the other members. Local HME news reporter Tricia Delphi's voice carried forward from there.

"…_prompting Torus City law enforcement to dispatch a riot control team to the area before order could be restored. Locals inform us that tensions in that sector had risen significantly following the shooting death of community activist Imari Tashi last week and that the violent altercation between the two groups came as little surprise to them. Currently seven arrests have been reported with charges ranging from injurious assault to inciting riot, a serious charge on Alpha Centauri. Though the identities of those detained have yet be released, sources within the Peacekeepers Department suggest at least two high level members of the Centauran Purity Movement are among them. _

_As both Charles Tucker and Lady T'Pol were apparently removed from the area by security operatives of their clan, neither were present when arrests were made. However, Torus City officials are already demanding they be turned over for questioning concerning their role in the incident._

_Witnesses however corroborate initial reports, hailing both as having acted to subdue several of the rioters prior to local peacekeepers arriving on the scene. Mr. Tucker is further credited personally with a heroic attempt to protect the Xindi-primate who was the group's original target. The bonded couple apparently suffered minor injuries during the incident and representatives for the Tucker clan continue to insist they are unavailable for interview as a result._

_No word yet on whether warrants will be issued to force the matter but the clan's ongoing attempts to gain representation on the Elder Council are sure to suffer in light of this latest incident. One can only speculate on the impact of the collision between growing xenophobic elements and the influential Vulcan clan of Torus City, especially in light of the celebrated couple's prior exploitation by Earth's Terra Prime movement decades ago. _

_As the situation develops HME News will continue to investigate and keep you informed. Tricia Delphi, reporting live from Torus City on Alpha Centauri. Back to you, Brian."_

"_Thank you, Tricia. We'll look forward to further…"_

Malcolm Reed tapped the link, closing it. His headache had just gotten a hell of a lot worse. He began massaging his temple as silence descended on the group for a long moment.

"Son of a bitch." He groaned at last.

**********

**The Tucker Compound**

**Torus City, Alpha Centauri**

T'Pol gazed down on the sleeping human on the couch before her. Undoubtedly he continued to be the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her and the absolute bane of her existence. She had cause to wonder yet again if every Vulcan felt this way about their bondmate. Considering the anomalous nature of the bond and the deep intimacy that it insisted upon, she was almost convinced it must be a universal truth. Surely all Vulcans everywhere must likewise vacillate wildly between the desire to passionately embrace and viciously throttle their mates at any given moment. But as Vulcan discipline required that such a thing never be spoken of, she could only speculate.

She didn't bother suppressing the sigh that this thought elicited from her. Having already forced the private security detail to render her unconscious with her utterly humiliating violent rampage, there didn't seem much point in behaving with strictest propriety in front of them now.

As the remaining two security officers milled around behind her, T'Pol wondered for a moment precisely how best to explain this incident to her children.

"_Yes, little T'mel. Your father was indeed involved in a violent brawl. But he was acting quite honorably in the defense of an innocent victim of assault by... What? Was your father under the influence of alcohol? Yes, unfortunately he was. But I am sure he has a logical explanation for that. And as it happens it aided in mitigating the injuries he suffered in the process of…What was that? Can you expect such illogical behavior from your mate in the future? No, you need not be concerned. Your parents have taken care in choosing a mate for you who is unlikely to yell loudly and disappear for hours on end, drinking alcoholic beverages until he feels compelled to intervene in violent riots…"_

T'Pol allowed one hand to massage her forehead. She believed she might be developing a headache. Hopefully that was merely a byproduct of her bondmate's current state and not a result of stress.

Regardless, she seriously needed to meditate.

"Lady T'Pol."

T'Pol dropped her hand and turned to the security officer. "Yes, Storan?"

"I regret the necessity of disturbing you now, Elder, but there is situation which I believe you would prefer to be aware of."

T'Pol suppressed her disagreement with the title, reminding herself yet again that clan leaders had been addressed in that manner for many thousands of years. Even those still young enough to reproduce, thank you very much. She would have to ask her _adun _again how he had convinced the entire clan to refer to him as "sir".

But for now…"Very well, Storan."

"At the 'Harmony' tavern, during the…incident, there was another human present. We have identified him as Troy Smith, an employee of the Tucker Engineering Company. He was apparently able to avoid the attentions of the mob as well as to leave the area before peacekeepers arrived. However, during our short interview with the Xindi-primate, a man named Regum Dorna, it has come to our attention…"

T'Pol raised one hand. "Excuse me, Storan. Did you say 'Xindi-primate'?"

"Yes, Lady T'Pol."

She stared at nothing a moment, obviously internalizing the fact, until Storan was forced to inquire. "You were unaware the person that Mr. Tucker acted to protect was Xindi?"

"I was. However, this explains somewhat my _adun's _aggressive behavior in his defense."

Storan raised an eyebrow at that. "I do not understand."

T'Pol nodded slightly. Thinking out loud, she explained. "Bear in mind that emotion motivates human behavior more often than not and so it is appropriate to speak of it here. As I am sure you are aware, long ago my mate held an illogical and powerful hatred for the Xindi, following the death of his sister in their attack on Earth. Eventually of course, he realized the logic in letting go of that hatred."

Storan nodded. He could see the obvious logic of that.

"However he has recently been confronted with a similar irrationality that he harbored. If he has come to see the logic of letting that go as well then the appearance of this Xindi, as the victim of just such a violent emotional response, would motivate him to intervene aggressively. As a surrogate, through which he would be able to physically wage his own internal struggle."

Storan considered before responding. "I confess, I fail to comprehend."

T'Pol nodded again. "That is understandable. It would require perhaps greater insight into human psychology than you need possess. You may continue with your report."

"Very well. It has come to our attention that Regum Dorna had intended to meet with Troy Smith, to arrange for his transportation off Alpha Centauri on a private vessel. Regum had apparently suffered significant financial difficulties as a result of excessive expenditures while touring the landmarks of the planet. He had advertised the availability of an otherwise unused passenger suite aboard his vessel, in order to reduce the expense of his upcoming departure. Troy Smith was to offer him several hundred credits for the suite in order to leave the system."

"I assume then that your security firm took it upon themselves to investigate the matter."

"We are first and foremost a clan venture, Elder. It seemed appropriate."

"I agree. However, I recommend you submit your findings to the Torus City peacekeepers immediately. We would not wish to reinforce the impression that Stone Shield represents a private intelligence force for the clan. However obvious that might be."

"I understand. We will do so promptly."

"Further, although I am sure you are already aware, Troy Smith has had significant personal contact with my family. Specifically, he served in Starfleet for several years before resigning to join the Company and so has gained the trust of my _adun _quickly. In addition, I suspect he was instrumental in aiding T'Pril in applying to Starfleet Academy without her father becoming aware of it."

Storan pondered the matter for a moment. "Lady T'Pol, considering these factors Troy Smith's presence during this incident and his apparent attempt to leave the planet circumspectly become all the more suspicious."

"His presence at 'Harmony' should not be considered unusual. It is a favored gathering place for many of the humans we employ. However, the manner of his departure is certainly suspect. To my knowledge, he has not severed his employment with the Company."

"He has not. Further, attempts to contact him via personal communicator have failed. We intend to send two agents to his home and four to the spaceport, as well as access his credit accounts in order to search for unusual transactions."

T'Pol nodded. "I trust that you know your business better than I. Do as you deem most logical. However, I find I am greatly concerned. If he is found, instruct your agents to take whatever steps are necessary to elicit an accounting of his actions. Should they prove unable to do so to their satisfaction, bring him to me. By force, if necessary."

"It will be as you say, Elder."

**********

**Fairmont Hotel**

**San Francisco, California**

Harnes depressed the 'end transmission' button on the console and leaned back in his chair. As much as he'd love to pretend his superior was off his gourd he had to admit the situation was such that there was just nothing else for it.

_I wonder if I'm witnessing the end of Section 31. _He thought. And not for the first time. It seemed every conceivable thing that could possibly happen to undermine their efforts with the _Vigilant _had very consistently happened over the last two years. It was almost impossible that it was all coincidental. Though he'd never seriously examined the possibility that some sort of God might really exist, he now assumed He must. And that He had apparently taken a fervent interest in playing practical jokes on Harnes and everyone else in his organization.

When the 'incoming transmission' bar lit up on his console and he read the identifier there, that settled it for him. _I gotta admit. You're pretty funny, Big Guy._

He tapped the console and waited for the confirmation tone before speaking.

"Troy. You want to explain to me why you're calling in the open like this?"

"Sorry. Can't be helped. I'm at the Torus City Spaceport. All hell's broke loose out here."

"Yeah, I heard. Why aren't you off that planet yet, Troy?" Wait, _spaceport_? "Wha…are you trying to get a _commercial _flight?"

"Like I said, can't be helped. I had a nice, private ride lined up. Guess where we were supposed to meet?"

It took a second but Harnes figured it out quickly enough. "You have got to pulling my leg."

"Nope. Saw the whole thing. Barely got out of there with my skin. And avoided the peacekeepers. The Xindi that nearly got himself lynched? That was my ride."

Harnes pinched the bridge of his nose. Ugh.

"Okay, just go ahead and disintegrate yourself now, Troy. You're screwed."

"Tell me something I don't know. Now, how about being a little more productive? I've got Tucker's agents on my ass, you know."

"Well, I'd suggest getting the hell out of the spaceport first off. And I'd call in a safe house for you to rabbit in. But there's a little hitch."

"Hitch? What do you mean hitch? What kind of hitch?"

"Word just came down. You're going in."

"…"

"You heard me."

"I'm not looking forward to fighting an old man, Harnes. And that's exactly how that's going to come down. Never mind he's pretty damned tough for his age. Did you not hear about him fending off a whole crowd of pissed off Centaurans tonight? And T'Pol dropped about a half dozen herself before I could slip out the door, you know."

"He's sixty-six, Troy. My dad's sixty-six. Just duck and cover, you should be fine."

"Well, that's very funny, Harnes. Thank you so much. So I can expect full honors at my funeral? A nice flag for my mom to hang on the wall?"

"Sorry, Troy. In all seriousness, I'd trade places with you if I could. But the order's clear. Straight from the limey's mouth."

"Okay. Okay, fine. Look, you just make sure the back door's open if I need it. I'll do my best to limp out of this one alive."

"Alright, enough whining. Get to it. Back door's open but you do what you have to do. The Tuckers are in this now so we need them all the way in, got it?"

"Understood. I'll call you when the bleeding stops."

**********

Troy ended the transmission and removed the scrambler from the public console. Since there wasn't much point in hiding it any more, he simply pocketed it.

Exiting the booth he spotted the two Vulcans seated across the terminal, still waiting and watching. Again, no point in hiding, so he looked right at them rather than through the reflection on the booth window. They didn't bother being any more sly than he once it was clear they'd been made. They stood up and headed straight for him right away.

He was admittedly surprised to find their movement had distracted him from the two coming up behind them until they were at his shoulders.

"Mr. Smith, if you would come with us." Said the one on the left. "Lady T'Pol requests your presence at the compound."

"No problem. I don't suppose I could get one of you boys to fetch my car from the lot?"

"It has been taken care of." Said the tall one on the right. "We have an aircar waiting outside. Also, there are several questions we would ask of you."

"Yes, I imagine there are. But I'd rather wait and speak with the Tuckers personally, if you don't mind."

"As you prefer. However, it will be required that we conduct a thorough search of your person when we reach the transport. If you will comply it will not be necessary to render you unconscious."

"Understood. Lead the way."


	15. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 15

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

As Gamma shift came on, T'Pril had been forced to continue her command duty into a second eight hour stretch. Fortunately, possessing a more Vulcan sleep requirement than human, this didn't cause her any noticeable discomfort. In fact, had she completed her duty at the end of Beta shift she would have simply attended to collating the long overdue personnel reports in. Then perhaps meditated for a couple of hours before searching for something else to occupy herself with until she grew fatigued enough to actually sleep.

With no other certified medic available for relief, Ensign Harold Schaffer had been assigned to sickbay and was unable to attend his normal Gamma shift command position. Sara Quinn was currently under sedation and no less than four other crew members occupied sickbay as well, following a rash of injuries that had afflicted the ship in the last four hours. All the result of power relays randomly overloading and exploding for no apparent reason all over the ship.

Down in engineering Lieutenant Commander Henry McArthur was working overtime as well, trying diligently, but with no luck whatsoever, to determine just what the problem was. The entire engineering staff was hard at work with him, as exploding power relays had not been the extent of the anomalous incidents the ship was currently suffering. All manner of odd failures, burnouts and unexplainable equipment malfunctions had been taking place since the last hour of Beta shift. And it had only gotten worse.

Having completed their interrogation of the survivor in the brig, and by all accounts getting no information whatsoever from the still delirious man, both Captain Farrell and Lieutenant Commander Kruger had retired for the evening. At least officially. P'Trell had quietly reported to her that Lieutenant Gaver had seen both men in the mess hall up until two hours prior. Where they were now she did not know, nor was she made aware of the results of Farrell and Gaver's heated argument in the ready room earlier.

On the bridge P'Trell, Foster and Summers all manned their stations into a second shift with her. Ensign Geraldo Duvall watched over the Science Station and Ensign Roselyn Stone had taken the Helm. T'Pril wasn't familiar with either of them. Neither were new assigns and both had been with the _Vigilant _for some months.

As she sat in the captain's chair, T'Pril pondered the events that had occurred since their arrival at Widow's Well. So far she hadn't yet been able to confidently determine what course of action she should take, other than simply waiting until the _Vigilant _exited the Well and reestablished subspace communications with Starfleet Command. Then at least she could make an official report and let the chips fall where they may. She would have preferred to speak with Lieutenant Gaver before then but he'd so far stubbornly refused to spare the time to meet with her.

Her musing were interrupted, yet again, as Ensign Foster muttered sarcastically. "Well, that's nice."

T'Pril turned her attention to him, wondering what oddity had occurred this time.

"Ensign Foster?"

Glancing up for a moment, he responded. "Well, we have a two-fer this time. Turbo lift failure at the deck F starboard terminus and gravplate failure throughout the entire enlisted officer's bathroom area. Both at the exact same time and, believe it or not, no discernible cause."

"Notify engineering teams."

"Yes, ma'am." Foster replied with a defeated sigh.

It didn't really matter so much at this point, she knew. Engineering was already so overwhelmed that they likely wouldn't get to either before they'd corrected themselves. So far that had been the case in more than half the anomalous occurrences.

"Oh, dammit." This time, from Ensign Summers. "Better make that a three-fer. Communications is down again. Not quite at the same time as those two but it's been fading out since about that time."

"Well, that's the record so far then." Foster snorted.

Summers viciously poked at her console for a moment before smacking it open handed once in frustration. T'Pril refrained from pointing out that assaulting the equipment would not be conducive to restoring its functionality.

"Well, I've been going over sensor logs." Announced Duvall. "Which I suppose is the only system that hasn't failed at least once so far. I'm not seeing anything unusual at all, either around the ship or from the Well itself. But I can't help but think of all those strange stories you hear about the Well. Things just like this."

"What examples can you provide?" T'Pril inquired. She was aware of the _official _standing on the rumors but not so much the rumors themselves.

"Things like…loss of power. Navigation failing…which by the way I've been keeping a thermal visual on the Well to make sure that doesn't happen. I don't think any of us want the _Vigilant _to get too friendly with the Widow…"

"Me, too." Declared Ensign Stone, with a nervous chuckle. "I'm watching thermal _and _x-ray. I've heard the stories. _Not _something I want happening on my shift."

"Right." Agreed Duvall. "Basically everything we're seeing here. All kinds of weird equipment failures. I'm kind of surprised we haven't lost propulsion yet. That's been reported as well. And of course all the other less reputable things. People disappearing, ghosts and all that. If I had to guess I'd say the Widow finally noticed we were here and decided to have some fun with us before we got away."

"You apply anthropomorphic properties to the singularity, Ensign." T'Pril replied, disapprovingly.

"Well, just a figure of speech, I guess." Duval replied, seeming somewhat ill at ease. "Stands to reason it has something to do with the Well, though."

"Oh, hey." Summers announced cheerfully. "Comm's back."

T'Pril simply nodded. Then the lights went out on the bridge. For a moment no one said anything, simply staring in surprise at one another by the light of their consoles. They at least were still lit. Which shouldn't even have been possible. Then the overhead lights blinked three times before coming back on again.

P'Trell grunted at that. "Well, Foster. What about that one?"

Foster shrugged helplessly. "Beats me. You'd have to crawl down a hundred meters of tube and clip ten different wires to turn out the lights without cutting power to anything else."

T'Pril was suddenly tempted to smack something in frustration.

She seriously needed to meditate.

**********

"Oh, what the hell?! Are you kidding me?"

Down in engineering, Lieutenant Commander McArthur was close to yanking at his hair. "Carrols! Why in God's green apples is the port injector assembly overheating?"

"I don't know! I'm trying to reroute but the…well, I can't…I don't know!"

McArthur growled in frustration. "Well just…do what you can!" He waved fiercely in that general direction before continuing on to the door.

"I've got to go check something." He yelled to whomever was still listening to him. "When I get back, if this ship's blown up I'm gonna have somebody's ass for a hat!"

Henry was frustrated. And not just from the rash of malfunctions that had suddenly decided to make his life miserable. He was sick and tired of not knowing what the hell was going on around here. While he had initially decided to wait for the appropriate time to pin Farrell down and get some answers, it was becoming obvious that time just wasn't ever going to come.

So, to hell with it.

By the time he reached the door to the captain's quarters, Henry had worked himself up to a good and proper pig headedness. Which, he figured he'd need. Getting the captain to explain himself was about as easy as getting a Vulcan to giggle. Basically, you just didn't even bother.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself a bit, he hit the button. After a moment Richard was at the door. In shorts and a tee. Looking decidedly unhappy.

"Henry." Captain Farrell groused. "It's late. The ship better be on fire or something."

Henry girded up his pig headedness. "Well, I reckon it is. In a manner of speaking." He groused right back.

He could see in Richard's eyes that he knew just what he was referring to. With a sigh, the captain made way.

"Come on in, Henry. If we're going to butt heads let me put some damned pants on first."

Henry stepped in, immediately noticing the bottle of bourbon on the desk and the smell wafting off the old man. Hell, the captain hadn't been sleeping at all.

Farrell noticed where Henry was looking as he hiked up his jump pants. He smirked. "Have a shot, Henry. It's not as if anyone's getting any sleep tonight anyway."

Henry cycled the door shut, ignoring the invitation. "So what the hell's going on, Rich? Rumor has it Quinn's wigged out, we got a civilian ship shot up in that last engagement and the Tucker girl tried to mutiny."

"You know better than to listen to scuttlebutt, Henry." Farrell said, angling for the desk to prop his feet up.

Henry put his hands on his hips. "Which is why I'm here. How about you let me know what's going on then?"

Farrell considered the bottle on the desk in front of him, clearly contemplating pouring another shot. He sighed. "Sit down, Henry." He gestured at the seat across from him.

Henry grunted but took the seat anyway.

"Quinn's in sickbay. Nervous exhaustion, Doc says." Farrell said. "Fact is…yeah, she wigged out a bit." Farrell nodded.

Henry found himself a little off balance suddenly. He hadn't expected Farrell to spill so quickly. So he decided not to throw the old man off and just nodded.

After a moment, Farrell started talking.

"We came up on the _Stardancer_. Drifting, minimal power. No life signs. 'Course now I have to wonder if that was just the Well playing hell with us. T'Pril _did _pull a survivor off her and West didn't pick up any life signs either."

Farrell sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Henry waited.

"She wasn't damaged, Henry. Which is why we didn't go to alert. At least not then. Kruger spotted a twinkle and lit it up. And the damned bird of prey slid right out of cloak on the other side, not half a klick away from us. Two torpedoes right over the _Stardancer's _bow. So we opened up right back on her."

"One of ours hit the _Stardancer's _rear section, blasted it right off. The other…straight through the midsection. Civilian ship, Henry. Might as well have been paper. Right through and hit the Rommie's ass end. He was angling around already. Lucky shot if I ever saw one, _Stardancer _aside."

Farrell leaned forward, deciding to pour himself a drink after all. He continued. "Rommie cloaked right off. I mean someone on their bridge must have had his finger on the button or something. Gone just that quick. But she was trailing vapor from that hit, so we could track her a little. Enough that we could see she was bugging out but we couldn't get a lock on her. Hell, Kruger was on tactical. Not that I could have done any better."

Farrell sip his bourbon. "And that was that. Except _Stardancer _was sitting there burning. And, Henry, there still wasn't any indication anyone was on board. Still no life signs, nothing. It was an obvious trap. Ship had been missing for _six months_." Farrell shrugged. "But Quinn started getting upset anyway. I don't know why. Maybe she just…had enough. Everything we've been through…hell, everyone's got their limit and I guess she just reached hers."

"So that's it. Then Miss Vulcan takes the chair and, lo and behold, they pick up a distress signal. Runs back and she finds _Stardancer_…with a damned _survivor _on board. And again, tell me that isn't an obvious trap, Henry. You remember Loracus. Slavers pulled that same trick. _Twice_."

Farrell stared into the bottle, brow furrowed now. "Hell, I can't blame her. I'd have figured the same probably. But she didn't go to alert, Henry. If she had we wouldn't be in this mess. No, she runs quiet, figuring she's gonna make a name for herself. Parks _Vigilant _right out in the open from the damned wreck and _sits there_. If the damned Rommies had come back they would have had us for lunch."

"So. I don't give a damn who she has back at Command rooting for her. There's no way in hell I'm letting that piss ant recruit command my ship when I'm gone. Let her make her report and then I'm by God going to yank the rug out from under her ass. And that's how it's going to go."

Farrell was staring at McArthur now. Henry knew what he was waiting for. He wanted confirmation that he wasn't going to interfere.

"Rich. You locked the sensor logs. Girl had every reason in the world to think what she did. She don't know you. She don't know any of us. I reckon I'd have figured the same. Hell, I'dda had to."

"Doesn't matter, Henry. She didn't follow protocol and she put this ship in danger. Simple as that."

Henry was quiet for a moment, thinking. It all sounded good…well, maybe not _good_. The captain was sure taking this whole thing pretty personal and all. But it all _fit_, at least. Except…

"Richard. Why'd you lock the logs down like that?"

Farrell studied him for a long moment. "What are you asking me, Henry?"

McArthur frowned. "I'm asking you why you locked down the sensor logs."

Farrell was quiet for a long time. Far too long for McArthur's liking.

"Have you ever seen or heard of a bird of prey decloaking, firing and cloaking right back again? And have we ever had one lit up with full scans while it did?"

Farrell wasn't looking at him, though. He was staring at something on the wall.

"We had that, Henry. First time ever. And I fully intend to carry that data back to Jupiter Station on the ass end of my last tour. I routed all of it to a secure log and I sat on it."

Farrell turned back to him.

"So maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do. But when your pointy eared princess came around demanding access to _my _secure logs…I told her to piss off. And as far as I'm concerned that's that. I don't give a particular damn if she responds with all manner of bizarre accusations when we get back home. Let her cut her own rope."

Henry pondered that a bit. "Alright, then. And what about Tuffy? Word has it you two had a bit of a ruckus."

"Gaver listened to Quinn. Who's down in sickbay right now, _sedated _I'll point out. Because she's hysterical. Tuffy got his back up, Henry. Nothing new there. That's all."

The console at the desk lit up and suddenly began screaming static at a painful volume. Wincing, Henry could see the captain simply sigh. Before he could respond the console kicked off again, though with a pitiful whine before doing so.

"Henry, are you planning on fixing my ship anytime soon? That's beginning to get a little annoying."

McArthur ignored that. "So why don't you just open the logs then, Richard."

"Absolutely not."

Henry's pig headedness was suddenly back. He took to his feet and began pacing. "Dang it, Rich. It's going to hell in a hacksaw out here already. That'd put this whole thing to rest, I tell you what."

"Let me get this straight, Lieutenant." Now Farrell had _his _back up. "Command drops some famous Vulcan wannabe in our laps and she stirs up a damned mess. And Tuffy gets a little grumpy about nothing in particular. And you want me to address that by reversing an executive decision? At a time like this? Do you really think that's any kind of good idea?"

"Well, it's sure as hell'd put this whole business to rest, now wouldn't it?"

"Well then that's the dumbest thing I've heard you say in a while, Henry." Now Farrell took to his feet. "Now let's get something straight. And I'm a little dismayed that I even have to say this to _you_. I made a decision. Good or bad, that's how it is. And the _last _thing this crew needs, _especially _at a time like this, is to see the captain of the ship reversing himself to make some green blooded little nobody happy."

"Now, my decision stands. Those logs will remain locked and this ship will complete it's mission. Whatever confusion there may be doesn't matter a hoot in hell because everyone's going to follow their orders, do their duty and observe protocol. _I_ am in command of this vessel. Not the test tube baby, not Tuffilik. And not _you_."

"Now is any of that at all unclear to you, Lieutenant?"

Henry found he'd gone a little beyond pig headedness to flat out good and pissed off.

"Well, I'm a little unclear on how you think pulling rank is gonna impress me, captain. I've been with you since this ship put out. So don't you go throwin' yer damned pips in _my _face."

"Then don't waltz in here questioning _me_, McArthur."

Henry stifled himself before the argument escalated further. Taking a deep breath, he continued more reasonably. "Alright, then. Fine. You're the captain. But you're going about this all boneheaded and that ain't good for the crew. Now you go on ahead and do whatever you're gonna do and I'll back you up, just like I always done. But I ain't happy with none of it."

"I ain't happy with how you're lettin' scuttlebutt tear ass through this ship. I ain't happy with you sittin' on them sensor logs so you can score a couple more points with Command before you retire. And I ain't happy with you rippin' up what might be a fine officer one day just 'cause you don't want _anyone _commanding this ship but you."

"But you go on and you make yerself happy. And the rest of us'll just do what we can to get the job done in the meantime. Though I reckon it's a damned shame we gotta get around _you _do it."

The two men faced one another down for a moment, before Farrell finally turned away in disgust.

After a moment, he chuffed. "You know, that accent of yours gets pretty thick when you're pissed, Henry."

Henry looked away and slapped his thigh sharply at that. "Well, hell. I know it. And you had to go and get me all riled up."

Farrell smiled back at that. "Yeah, well. You started it. A man can't even have a drink in his own quarters without you coming in here kicking over the furniture."

"Well, don't go thinking I'm gonna let this one go, Rich." Henry's eyes were hard again. "When Command asks me what the hell went on out here, I'm gonna have to tell 'em you grew an ass where you're head oughta be. And there ain't nothing' for that."

**********

It was Ensign Foster that finally broke the blessed few minutes of inactivity that had descended on the bridge. Just when T'Pril was beginning to hope she might get through Gamma shift without the ship imploding.

"Oh. That's not good." He said, suddenly working his console furiously. "That is very, very not good."

"Ensign?" T'Pril inquired.

"Starboard airlock just cycled. Full cycle though, so no venting."

T'Pril took to her feet.

"No prior indication of malfunction?"

"No warning at all."

"Is it possible for airlock doors to open simultaneously, considering the safeguards built into the system?"

"Not even remotely. But I've seen a dozen different malfunctions in the last five hours that shouldn't be possible." Ensign Foster looked at her anxiously.

T'Pril considered the implications for a moment, before turning to the Tactical Station.

"Ensign P'Trell. Contact engineering. Order teams to both airlocks, shuttle bay and all escape pod hatches. They are to cut power to all external doors. Manually. This is to take priority over all other engineering tasks."

"Understood." P'Trell responded promptly.

"Ensign Summers, locate Captain Farrell and inform him of the situation. Request that he…"

"Whoa! We just lost something." Ensign Duvall exclaimed.

"Report."

"I've got an object moving directly away to starboard…121 kilogram displacement…22 meters per second…Oh, my God…it's organic…I think it's…a body."

"Visual."

Duvall's fingers played over the Science Station console for a moment until the main view screen lit up. Every human on the bridge gasped in horror at the figure tumbling through the vacuum.

It was Lieutenant Gaver.


	16. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 16

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

T'Pril considered the corpse now rapidly tumbling away from the vessel for a moment. She decided it best to pause before issuing orders. From the shock evidenced by the bridge crew she estimated that at least two seconds of recovery would be required before they could be expected to respond effectively. She spent that time recognizing the irony of the situation, in light of Captain Farrell's remarks during her initial interview with him. Lieutenant Gaver, despite being an accomplished officer of rank, had apparently fallen out of an airlock.

"Ensign P'Trell, security alert. Secure the starboard airlock. Scramble MACO to assist if necessary."

P'Trell responded instantly.

"_Security alert! All security officers to stations. Team two secure starboard airlock, code green."_

"Ensign Stone, match speed and vector. Summers, have you located the captain?"

"Captain says he's on his way to the airlock." She responded.

T'Pril considered that for a moment.

"Contact shuttle bay and have a shuttle prepped to recover the body. Wake Ensign Hsaio."

Turning to the Science Station, she ordered. "Ensign Duvall, you have the chair." She then nodded to Tactical.

"P'Trell, secure a phase pistol from the bridge arms locker and come with me."

**********

As they entered briskly into the starboard corridor on deck E, Captain Farrell could be heard around the bend already issuing orders as they approached.

"…want you two to hike back to the shuttle bay. You secure that shuttle the moment it hits the plate. I'll want a full forensics workup so _no one _touches _anything_. Understood?"

As they came into view, T'Pril was surprised when P'Trell suddenly barked beside her at the men ahead.

"You two stay right were you are! No one's going anywhere."

P'Trell's antennae were fully rigid, she noted, indicating extreme anger. It suddenly occurred to T'Pril that she had underestimated the relationship between the Andorian and the Tellarite. Apparently Gaver's death had provoked him to hostility. She now questioned her logic in ordering him to accompany her.

Captain Farrell, the two security officers and, to T'Pril's mild surprise, Commander McArthur turned to face them with shock. Farrell recovered quickly.

"You stand down, ensign. I want these two men covering Gaver's body in the shuttle bay. And I want _you here_, on this airlock…"

P'Trell ignored him, snarling to one of the security officers before him.

"You. Get to that intercom and summon two more officers here now. And you." Pointing to the second man. "You will place Captain Farrell under arrest and escort him to the brig when they arrive to relieve you."

Farrell exclaimed incredulously. "_Excuse me_?"

P'Trell now turned on him, abject fury evident on his face. "I'm well aware that you fired on a civilian vessel, captain, conspiring to conceal that matter from the crew. And that Tuffy confronted you with your crimes not six hours ago! And now he's dead! Tossed out of an airlock like _trash_!"

"Now you wait a damned minute…"

"I would like nothing better than to shoot you dead where you stand, you miserable coward!" P'Trell snarled, stalking closer to Farrell. "So you just give me an excuse to do so."

T'Pril stepped forward carefully, blocking his advance.

"You will stand down, ensign." She ordered calmly.

P'Trell regarded her with surprise before anger quickly clouded his face again. "This murdering _ta'sok _just killed the tactical…"

"While this incident certainly suggests foul play, there is no indication yet that anyone in particular is responsible. Further, there exists a reasonable possibility that Lieutenant Gaver's death was an accident, in light of the…"

"An _accident?!"_

"…In light of the unusual malfunctions occurring throughout the ship at the moment. Your tone and manner are exceedingly insubordinate and your judgment is clearly compromised. Stand down immediately and take a moment to calm yourself before you proceed."

T'Pril projected serene focus, hoping to provoke some peace from the furious Andorian officer. Interestingly, it seemed at first to work.

P'Trell gritted his teeth and shook visibly before abruptly turning away to gain control of himself. Commander McArthur stepped forward to brush T'Pril's arm with one hand, forcing her to step to the side quickly in order to minimize the contact.

When P'Trell turned back around it was obvious he'd had little progress in his struggle. His face still twisted with anger, he snapped at T'Pril. "Are you going to tell me you can't smell that, with that nose of yours? That's burnt flesh! And ozone from a phase pistol discharge! And you're standing here defending _him_?!"

He pointed accusingly at Farrell with one finger. "Someone murdered Tuffilik and _this _is the human bastard with the motive and means! With Lieutenant Gaver's death security command falls to _me_!"

Turning to face Captain Farrell again directly, he announced. "I am invoking Article 7, paragraph 5 and relieving you of command, under suspicion of murder! These two officers will escort you to the brig. _Now_!"

McArthur stepped forward at that. "Now hold up! The Captain was with me, in his quarters, for the last half hour at least…"

Farrell silenced him with one hand.

"These two men here are going to place me under arrest. Is that right, ensign?" He said to P'Trell.

He turned to the two security officers, both clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. "Well? Am I under arrest or what?"

Neither man responded. Both had hands on their phase pistols but it was readily apparent who they were prepared to draw on.

After a moment Farrell turned his attention back to P'Trell. "Well. I guess not."

Farrell paused for a short moment, placing his hands on his hips to project a little authority into the situation.

"So. This is how it's going to go. You will turn your weapon over to the security officer here. And then both these men will escort you to your quarters, where you are confined until further notice. As it stands your insubordination is something I can overlook _for now_, considering the two dozen other crises we face at the moment. But if you so much as open your big blue mouth again, ensign, I'm going to have to spend the next few minutes stomping a hole in your ass. And I haven't got the time to spare. Now what's it going to be?"

T'Pril, watching the confrontation play out in front of her, noting with interest that Farrell's challenge actually seemed to calm the Andorian somewhat. An unusual reaction, she thought. Nevertheless she noticed his hand creeping to the pistol at his side, though it seemed an unconscious act.

"Ensign P'Trell." She stated clearly. "If you draw your sidearm I will be forced to engage and disarm you. Considering the circumstances, I will exercise little restraint."

P'Trell's head jerked sharply to her, though he said nothing, still struggling fiercely to control himself. T'Pril began to wonder at the excessive difficulty he seemed to be having. But his hand dropped away from the pistol nonetheless.

"I recommend strongly that you comply with the orders issued to you by your commanding officer. Turn your weapon over to security and allow yourself to be escorted to your quarters. The situation here is well in hand. Once you have regained control I will impress upon the captain your utility in investigating this matter, considering your extensive experience in security. Until then, you are relieved."

As he glared at T'Pril something unidentifiable passed between them. After a long, tense moment the tactical officer grimaced and carefully removed the pistol to present it to the nearest man, butt first. His eyes were still locked fiercely with T'Pril's when the two men grasped his arms and led him away.

McArthur expelled a breath of relief as they passed out of sight down the corridor.

"Som'bitch." He muttered.

T'Pril caught herself doing an actual double take, surprising herself with her reaction to the man's outburst. But the last few minutes had been unfortunately full of surprises.

As Captain Farrell turned to regard her speculatively, she recovered and moved quickly to deflect whatever comment he was about to make.

"Captain, I acknowledge my failure to recognize Ensign P'Trell's state of agitation, as well as my lack in judgment in ordering him to arm himself before accompanying me here. However, my intent was to insure the airlock was properly secured, in the event that we found security had not yet arrived."

Farrell hesitated but took the bait. "Well, it doesn't give me a whole lot of confidence in your command ability if you can't recognize a pissed off Andorian standing right next to you, ensign."

"Agreed. A regrettable failure. One which I assure you will not be repeated. If the area is secure, shall I return to the bridge or would you prefer that I oversee the recovery of Lieutenant Gaver's body?"

Farrell regarded her with mild antipathy for a moment before responding with a jerk of his head. "Get back to the bridge, ensign. Tuffy's one of mine. I'll look after him."

"Understood, captain. I will confirm that sickbay is aware of the situation and prepared for your arrival."

With that she departed, leaving each of the two command officers behind her with entirely different impressions.

**********

Stepping back onto the bridge, past the security officer now stationed at the lift, she began issuing orders immediately.

"Ensign Summers, contact sickbay and confirm they are prepared to receive Lieutenant Gaver's body for forensic examination. Then wake Ensign Trindi and summon her to the bridge to man the Tactical Station in relief. Report when you have completed those tasks."

"Yes, ma'am."

Foster spoke up at that. "Where's P'Trell?"

"That is not your concern. Continue monitoring ship status and report any further anomalies."

Foster frowned at that but she ignored him for now. "Helm, report."

"We lost a little ground a few minutes ago." Roselyn Stone replied. "Propulsion dropped out for a short while but we're up and running again. I'm correcting course now, in fact."

"Science?"

"No contacts but I have started picking up some ghosts." Duvall responded. "Not the supernatural kind. Just some bleed over. Deflector's holding up fine but it's interfering with sensors a little for some reason."

"Helm, are you prepared for full stop if the deflector fails?"

"Science has me tied in and I'm keeping a close eye on it."

"Sickbay confirms ready and Trindi's on the way." Summers reported.

"Very well. Contact the armory and request an accounting of all phase pistols on the ship at present. Forward the report to the ready room console. Impress upon them that the information is required immediately and is expected to be precise."

"I…yes, ma'am." Summers replied.

"Following that wake Ensign West and have her report to me."

**********

Jennifer West rolled over in her sleep, suddenly uncomfortable. Something was impinging on her consciousness and though she tried to ignore it before it could nudge her awake, she failed completely.

An alert? No, that wasn't it. She kind of thought maybe she'd heard _something _but her brain just shrugged stupidly, even as it kicked her in the butt and insisting _something else _was going on.

After a moment she found herself squinting, half awake, at the featureless ceiling. It occurred to her that she was distinctly grumpy about that. A quick, very blurry check of her peripheral vision reassured her that Nikki was still fast asleep, cuddled up to the wall. Satisfied, she stubbornly closed her eyes to insist that whatever powers dictated such things render her unconscious again before she had to get snippy about it.

Except…someone was in the room with them.

Jenny was fully alert in less than two seconds, sitting up to locate the threat while some unnamed rear element of her brain cast around wildly for something she could grab to fend it off with.

Behind her, at the viewport.

A quick jerk of her head took in the pale figure at the window while one hand darted up unconsciously to grab something, _anything _from the bookshelf above the bed. She vaguely realized she'd knocked a couple of manuals loose in the process which landed promptly on the bed, eliciting a grunt of protest from Nikki.

The man at the window turned and gazed at her so desperately, with such a potent aura of despair, that she was paralyzed by the incongruity of it for a moment. One hand on the window…a uniform…pale blue? Something stained his head and chest. Blood. He was moving forward, stepping toward her…

Jenny was up and stumbling across the room to the table, snatching up the hefty bronze statue of Sophia an ex-boyfriend had gifted her with long ago. She hit the lights and had the Greek goddess hurling with tremendous force in the right general direction before she even realized…

There was no one there.

The sharp impact of the statue on the window and the following double thump as it hit the floor finally woke Nikki. She rolled over with a jerk to squint at her mother, who seemed to be throwing things around the room for no apparent reason.

"Momma?" She had time to say, before Jenny was back beside her in a flash pulling her into her arms.

"Shhh. It's okay, baby. Everything's okay."

But it wasn't, Nikki knew. Mom was scared and she was looking all around the room for something, too. And her voice was all shaky.

"Wha' happened?" Nikki asked sleepily.

"I…" Jenny spent a few more seconds compulsively examining every corner and shadow in the room before she calmed herself a little. She took a deep breath, which she surprised herself by releasing with a laugh. "_Whew_. I think momma had a…" A second to catch her breath. "…had a really _weird _nightmare."

"Nightmares aren't real, momma." Nikki said. In an oddly desperate sort of way, Jenny noticed.

She hugged her daughter reassuringly, kissing her on top of her head. "I know, honey. I know. Go on back to sleep, baby. I'm okay. Everything's okay."

With a second quick hug and kiss, just to be sure, Jenny slid off the bed to turn the lights out again. She had to spin about and check the room one more time before she did, of course. But there were definitely no weird, bloody men looking at her funny anywhere. Her heart was still beating way too hard, though.

Jenny breathed deeply and brushed the hair from her face. "I'm going to get a drink of water, Nikki. You want one?"

"No, ma'am." Nikki answered drowsily, rubbing her eyes.

Jenny turned out the lights and fetched a quick sip from the bathroom, leaving the door wide open just in case….well, just in case. When she returned only a moment later she found Nikki was already fast asleep again and marveled for not the first time at her fortune. She couldn't have hoped for a better kid. Never mind the rogue moon incident.

Smiling, she ran her fingers through her hair, tossing it back and heading for the bed. She intended the cuddle little Nikki very tightly until she fell asleep again.

She stopped with a startled jump when she spied the hand print evaporating on the smooth surface of the viewport.

It was gone almost as soon as she'd seen it. But she was more confident that she had indeed seen it than she was about the nightmare she'd just thrown a statue at. Jenny stood staring at the window for a while, her breath shaky and shallow.

"_Bridge to West."_

Jenny scared the hell out of herself even more with the sharp, aborted scream that erupted out of her. With one hand clamped tight over her mouth her eyes cut to Nikki, who hadn't stirred at all. She suddenly felt extremely silly, even though part of her insisted she had every reason in the world to go shrieking down the corridors in her underwear. In fact, it was still demanding to know why she wasn't doing just that.

"_Bridge to West."_

Jenny took a quivering breath before stepping to the wall. Hold your horses, we're in the middle of peeing ourselves here.

She hit the button, though it took two tries. Her hands were still shaking.

"West, go ahead."

"_Report to Ensign T'Pril, bridge ready room."_

"On my way."

The quivering part of her brain instantly threw a fit. _We're not leaving Nikki alone in here! _Sound council, Jenny agreed. I'm with you on that one.

She approached the bed to rouse her. "Nikki, honey. Wake up. Come on, we've got to get you to…"

Well, heck. To where? It's not like there were any babysitters available. And not for the first time she kicked herself for not taking the time to sound people out in that regard yet.

"Momma, I'm sleepy." Nikki protested.

"Come on, honey. I've got to get to bridge real quick." Jenny shook Nikki urgently.

Nikki peered up at her mother, still half a sleep. After a moment's half-conscious consideration she decided it really wasn't cheating. Not really.

"It's fine, momma. I'm safe." She said groggily. "Two promised."

Nikki rolled away and went back to the business of sleeping very comfortably.

Jennifer West stared at her sleeping daughter.

For three seconds everything was just fine.

Jenny rolled up off the bed, dashing for the closet. Nikki was safe, everything was fine. Except that she was going to be late getting to the bridge.


	17. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 17

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

At Ensign Trindi's urgent gesture, Jennifer let herself into the ready room rather than waiting for an invitation. She was still struggling with the zipper of her uniform though, having half dressed herself in the lift. To heck with it if anyone had spotted her running barefoot with her top down through the corridors. People ought to be sleeping at this hour.

"T'Pril, you wanted to see…"

Jenny caught herself when she realized the woman was on the intercom.

"And you can confirm item 23, regarding phase pistol VR-211?"

"_Uh…yeah. Signed out to…Captain Richard Farrell, March 12, 2184? Two years ago. I'm looking at the same report you are."_

"Very well. T'Pril out."

T'Pril turned to regard Ensign West, then gestured to the console across the room. "Be seated there, ensign."

Jenny glanced at the console, then back at T'Pril before she moved across the room to sit. She found a report delineating the assignment history of phase pistols confronting her from the screen. She looked up inquiringly at T'Pril as she crossed the room to stand beside her.

"You may close out the current display, ensign. I have an assignment for you."

Jenny reached up and tapped the 'clear window' bar, readying her hands at the controls on the assumption that it was a _computer _assignment T'Pril was talking about.

"Ensign, you ranked first in computer operations at the academy and third in computer programming, according to your jacket."

Jenny nodded. "That's right." No point in trying to be modest. She knew T'Pril would just waste time pointing out that modesty was a waste of time.

"During your studies, to what degree did you engage in computer 'hacking' or free electives concerning encryption systems?"

She had to put effort into not being knocked off balance by _that _question. "Well…I didn't do a lot of hacking in my time. I was usually too busy studying. But I had a couple of friends that liked to give the academy system a run for its money. One got themselves kicked out over that, in fact. Encryptions, though. I took one class in _basic _encryption but that's all."

T'Pril was quiet for a moment. Though she didn't display any readily apparent reaction to that, Jenny got the vague impression she was disappointed.

"Ensign West. I am currently in command of the bridge and, further, I am officially being detailed into the captaincy of this vessel. This allows me to wield a broad range of powers and authority, particularly when on duty. However, Captain Farrell is currently in command and so his standing orders and general grade exceeds my own in all areas."

Jenny tried to figure out what T'Pril was trying to get to, even as she stared back at her pointedly.

"Therefore, were I to order you to hack the sensor log that Captain Farrell has locked on his authority, that would be an unlawful order and you would be in conflict with Starfleet directives were you to follow it. So I will not order you to do that. But that is what I am asking you to do."

Jenny's eyebrows shot up. _Are you kidding me? _"Uh…T'Pril. I can't do that."

"I understand that you are reluctant. This is not an order, nor am I attempting coerce you…"

"No, I mean, not just that. I don't even know if I _can_. That's…pretty tough. Starfleet didn't mess around when they designed these encryption systems. "

"I am aware of how difficult the assignment I am proposing would prove to be. Nonetheless, I am aware that it is possible to perform this task successfully. I am asking then first if you believe you are capable and second if you are willing."

Jenny considered what she was being asked to do pretty fiercely before responding. "T'Pril…I'm sorry, but no. I can't do that." She hurried on before T'Pril could speak, wanting to be clear. "I _might _be able to pull it off but I've never tried anything like that. But like you said that's…I could be _court-martialed_."

T'Pril nodded understanding.

"Very well. Do not be concerned. I will not in any way hold your decision against you. In fact, I admit that I find it an admirable position for you to take and the one that I would recommend, were I not in possession of facts that you are not."

T'Pril moved around to the opposite side of the console, even as Jenny cocked her head a bit to express her confusion.

"Ensign West, I'm sure you are aware that I have accused Captain Farrell and the other two command officers who were on the bridge during Alpha shift of having fired upon and thereby destroyed the _Stardancer_. And further, that they have acted in collusion to hide that fact."

Jenny averted her eyes to the console. She _really _did not want to have any part in _that _one. "T'Pril…yeah, me and Marisa talked about that. That's pretty much what we figured was going on."

"You are unaware that while you were sleeping Lieutenant Gaver was found ejected from the starboard airlock. His body was recovered approximately fifteen minutes ago."

Jenny's eyes leapt back up again as she gasped at that. "Wha…what? What happened?"

"That remains unclear at this time. I expect a thorough forensic investigation is being conducted at present to determine that. Or at least, that is my hope. However, as you know, Lieutenant Gaver spoke with the captain privately in this room immediately following the recovery of the _Stardancer _crewman. What you do not know is that the discussion between them was extremely confrontational and that Lieutenant Gaver demanded answers of the captain concerning statements by Lieutenant Quinn. Statements that support my accusations. It was several hours after this confrontation that Gaver was found to have been ejected from the airlock."

Jenny didn't know what to say. The idea that the captain had _murdered _someone…it was just unthinkable. This was Captain _Farrell_! Not exactly a _legend _but darned close.

"Further, when Ensign P'Trell and I left the bridge to secure the airlock pending the arrival of security officers there, we both noted the scent of burnt flesh in the air. While it was subtle, the smell is distinctive. As well as the singular odor of a phase pistol having been discharged in the area recently. This is why I requested the report detailing phase pistol distribution when you arrived."

"In light of this information it seems likely that Captain Farrell is directly involved in a number of incidents that are contrary to Starfleet regulation and will require criminal prosecution. The sensor logs he has locked hold the potential to establish guilt and motive in several crimes. Or establish his innocence in many of them. It is for this reason I have asked you to attempt this task."

Jenny was almost overwhelmed. This was way, _way _over her pay grade.

But she considered it anyway. She considered it quite diligently, in fact. Deliberately and for a good long time.

"Captain Farrell still refuses to open the log?" She asked at last.

T'Pril nodded. "That is correct."

Jenny closed her eyes. _I am such an idiot. _She thought.

"Okay. I'll try."

"Very good. I will return shortly to inquire as to your progress."

"Wait. Where are _you _going?"

"To place Captain Farrell under arrest. If I am successful then this will not be necessary. I will take command officially and avail myself of the associated authorization upgrade to access the logs directly."

As T'Pril disappeared through the door, Jenny stared after her, wondering. _What do you mean 'if' you are successful?_

**********

Reentering the bridge T'Pril made directly for the Tactical Station.

"Ensign Trindi. With Lieutenant Gaver now dead and Ensign P'Trell confined to quarters, security command technically falls to you as tenured officer. Correct?"

Achilla Trindi sputtered for a moment, caught completely off guard. "Well…I…yes, I suppose. But that's…I mean, _technically_…"

T'Pril waited patiently for the officer to compose herself somewhat before interrupting.

"Essentially, I am inquiring if the security officers of the _Vigilant _would submit to your authority, were you to exercise it in the interests of maintaining order."

Achilla glanced over at the officer now on alert station at the turbo lift. "Well…yes, I suppose." She was beginning to get her feet under her again and responded more confidently. "Yes, they would."

"Very well, come with me."

As Achilla rose she noticed that T'Pril wasn't heading for the turbo lift. She was heading for the bridge arms locker. To retrieve three weapons.

"Uh…ensign. Where are we going?" She asked.

"I will explain on the way. Secure these." She handed two of the phase pistols to the skeptical officer.

**********

Exiting the lift on deck E the two were confronted with complete darkness, broken only by the glare from the lift itself and two jittering beams of light much farther down the corridor. One of them shifted quickly in their direction as a voice called out.

"Power's out in this section. We're working on it but if you need to get through the gravplating's still good."

T'Pril raised one hand in acknowledgment, preferring not to yell loudly down the ship's corridors.

"Can you see well enough to navigate for us, Trindi?"

"No, I can't see a thing. But I have a penlight. Hold on." Achilla dug in one pocket to produce the small light. It was powerful but one wouldn't want to go jogging down the halls with nothing but that to light the way.

As they made their way carefully through the dark corridors, Achilla continued the discussion they'd had on the lift.

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea, T'Pril. I know you think you have sufficient cause to do this but you just don't know Captain Farrell like we do. I can't believe for a second that he'd be responsible for any of that. And even if he were, I'm certain he'd admit to it and face the consequences."

"Nevertheless, the evidence is clear and the logical deduction must be acted upon."

"Well I think this is one situation where you're going to find logic's led you down the wrong path. I'm telling you, none of this can be right. It just can't."

"Then perhaps a proper investigation will clear the captain of any wrongdoing and expose whomever else is responsible."

"Assuming there's any wrongdoing in the first place."

"Of course."

Arriving at Ensign P'Trell's quarters they found the two security officers stationed there already making use of their own flashlights, as they were lit up the moment they rounded the corner.

"Knock it off, boys. It's me." Achilla called out, raising one hand to block the glare.

"Hey, Chilly." One of the men called out familiarly. "How long until they get the power back up here?"

"Yeah." The other man pitched in. "It's bad enough to be in the dark like this but when the gravplate goes it gets _really _interesting."

"I can imagine." Achilla replied. "No idea on the power, though. With everything falling apart like this, who knows?"

"Sounds about right." The man said distractedly, having realized who was with her. "So what's the op, Chilly?"

"We're here to fetch P'Trell."

The man hesitated at that. "Oh, I'm sorry, Chilly. Captain's got him confined to quarters."

"Well, I'm countermanding that."

The two men were silent for a moment, sparing one another a quick glance.

"I'm afraid that's a no go, Chilly." The first man said sternly. "This one's straight from the captain."

Achilla sighed. "Look, boys. The captain's in trouble. We have evidence implicating him in a few pretty questionable things. Now, I'm not suggesting any of that amounts to anything but it's got to be investigated, if only to clear him. So his orders concerning P'Trell just don't stand."

The man confronting her frowned. "Captain's straight, Chilly. You know that."

"Yes and I can know that all day long. That's got nothing to do with getting the job done. I'm not going to be the one standing before an admiral in a few weeks explaining I didn't do my duty because I just 'knew' something. And you know very well the captain would kick us all in the butt if we tried that one with _him_."

The two men exchanged an uncertain look.

"Come on, boys. You know how this is going to go. Let's do the job here."

Finally one of the men sighed. "Damn, Chilly. This is shaky as hell, you know."

"I do know it, Mike. Believe me."

The man cast his light over T'Pril again, considering her presence with obvious doubt.

"You absolutely sure about this, Chilly? It's not just your ass on the line here."

"I'm standing here, Studly."

After a few more seconds of consideration, he finally nodded decisively.

"Okay, then. Let's all get court-martialed for doing our jobs. About what I expected when I signed up."

"Hey, speak for yourself." The second man responded. "I intend to turn state's evidence on the lot of you, mark my words."

Achilla smirked. "You do that, Jimmy, and I'll tell your mom about that Orion girl back at Freeport."

As he tapped in the security code the man replied with a grin. "Oh, hell. Never mind. I'd rather go to jail."

When the door slid open they found P'Trell already waiting. He ignored the security officers present to speak directly to T'Pril.

"Be certain of what you're doing, T'Pril. If you let me out of here I'm going after the captain. He has to answer for Tuffy."

"I understand that, ensign." T'Pril replied. "But I insist that you comport yourself in a manner benefiting a Starfleet officer, follow protocol and obey my orders. Otherwise these security officers will be forced to return you to confinement on a more permanent basis. Is that understood?"

P'Trell nodded. "Understood. If we're on the same side then you don't have to worry about me."

"Very well."

Turning to the officers staring at him, P'Trell exclaimed. "So what's next?"

"First, you take this." Achilla promptly handed him the second phase pistol she'd been carrying the whole time.

P'Trell accepted it, fastening it at his hip. After a moment passed he asked impatiently. "And then?"

"Beats me." Achilla replied brightly. "You're in charge now, sir."


	18. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 18

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

Captain Farrell had finally been able to make his way to sickbay, to oversee the forensic examination of Lieutenant Gaver's body, after walking with McArthur back to engineering. He'd wanted to be certain Henry was still on his team. That was one asset he simply couldn't afford to lose in this mess. Though he'd been tempted to stay on there, considering the absolute chaos that had descended on the department in the Chief Engineer's absence, Tuffy needed taking care of. So he'd hiked it straight here.

And, of course, he'd walked into sickbay to find hell had coming calling there as well. Shouldn't have surprised him at all.

Staring down at Lieutenant Quinn's charred corpse he did his best to pull some order out of the madness spinning around him.

"Okay, Doc. First, tell me about Gaver. What'd you find there?"

Doctor Sulok responded dispassionately, hands folded behind him in a classic Vulcan pose. "The cause of death was obvious in that case. A single phase pistol blast issued at a range of approximately 2.4 meters, impacting the anterior torso, superior to the…"

Farrell gritted his teeth. "English, dammit."

Sulok considered for a moment before replying. "He was shot in the chest."

"And then just tossed in the airlock?"

"According to the initial forensic report from the scene, that is the assumption we are currently acting upon. However, I am not directly involved in that portion of the investigation."

Farrell was silent for a moment.

"And Quinn?"

"That incident is significantly more difficult to explain."

"Do your best, doc."

"Very well. Immediately after the arrival of Lieutenant Gaver's body, sickbay suffered another in a series of power outages. Additionally, gravplating failed momentarily resulting in minor contusions to myself and Ensign Schaffer. This slightly delayed our response to Lieutenant Quinn's predicament…"

Farrell closed his eyes. "Cut to the damned chase, doc."

Sulok paused again before attempting to abbreviate his report as commanded.

"The automated external defibrillator on Lieutenant Quinn's recovery bed began to operate independently. Ensign Schaffer and I recognized the danger to the Lieutenant, who remained unconscious at that time, and attempted…"

"Wait. Power was out in sickbay. _All _power?"

"That is correct."

"But the AED was still functioning?"

"Clearly."

Farrell shook his head at that but gestured for Sulok to continue.

"The AED began to issue unusually powerful electrical shocks to Lieutenant Quinn's body, causing her to combust. Attempts to…"

"She caught _on fire_?"

"Again, obviously. Although I admit I am unable to explain precisely how that could have occurred."

"Go on."

"Attempts to power down the AED failed, as no power appeared to be flowing to the device. The emergency power compartment was noted to have exploded, but I removed the battery pack by hand to be certain. It was nonfunctional."

Farrell had noticed Doctor Sulok's bandaged right hand when he'd first entered, so that explained that.

"The AED continued to discharge at that time, so I ordered Ensign Schaffer to utilize a surgical saw to cut through the wall and sever the power conduit to the recovery bed. This also failed to impact the AED's continued operation. After several minutes the device retracted as power was restored to sickbay. We were able to access Lieutenant Quinn directly in order to extinguish the fire at that time."

"I conducted manual cardiopulmonary resuscitation for 15.4 minutes before ceasing. In light of the injuries Lieutenant Quinn had sustained at that point and her continued failure to respond to treatment, we transferred her to the primary table here for final examination. All vital signs continued negative and it was determined at that time that brain functions had ceased approximately 18 minutes prior."

"I have recorded time of death at 0512 hours."

Captain Farrell allowed himself another pained glance at the horribly disfigured body of his Communications Officer before covering his eyes with one hand and lowering his head.

My God. She'd been beautiful. Beautiful, smart, kind hearted. A consummate professional. Hell, if he'd been twenty years younger…it was just too much. He'd just made the claim to Henry that everyone had their limits. _Everyone_. And he was rapidly reaching his, he knew.

To his surprise and embarrassment he found Sulok suddenly embracing him, holding him up. His knees had buckled. He quickly regained his balance, tugging weakly on this uniform in the attempt to collect himself.

"Sorry, doc. I just…it's…"

"It is quite understandable, captain. If you will allow me to support you, I will direct you to…"

"No. No, I'm fine. Just…let me get off my feet for a minute."

"Of course. There is a seat available here." Sulok gestured to the Research Station behind him.

Farrell stumbled back and dropped into the seat offered him, promptly burying his face in his hands. As much as he despised showing any kind of weakness…especially in front of the Vulcan…he was simply overwhelmed. For probably the first time in all his years of command, everything had spun so far out of control that he couldn't even think straight any more. His mind had gone blank and his struggles to come up with something, anything to get around this mess…

Nothing. He couldn't see anything anymore.

Quinn was dead. Gaver was dead. Kruger…where the hell _was _he anyway?! The ship was falling apart around him and that damned half-breed had the whole crew turned every which way…

Enough. Just…enough already. It was time to just…give the hell up. And, my God, how that thought appealed to him.

Farrell ran one hand through his hair, dropping the other to his lap.

"Doctor Sulok…contact engineering and get…"

No. Hell, that wouldn't work. Henry was already neck deep and pulling him out of engineering again…well, _Vigilant _was in serious trouble. She needed him down there. Henry'd left for fifteen damned minutes to come give _him _grief and the warp core had nearly gone critical.

"Captain?"

Farrell tried in vain to come up with something else. The very idea made him nauseous. But if we're giving up here…well, to hell with it. Just to hell with it all.

"Contact the bridge. Get T'Pril down here. And a security team. Inform her that…"

"Captain."

Farrell looked up at the interruption, wanting nothing more at the moment than to desperately beg the damned Vulcan to maybe not interrupt him right at that particular moment. But Sulok was looking over at the main doors to sickbay.

Where T'Pril, Trindi, two other security officers and, by God, that damned Andorian now stood.

_Well, then. Here we go._

**********

Marisa spit the last of the mouthwash into the sink. A quick glance around through bleary eyes satisfied her that she hadn't missed anything, so she staggered to the shower to get things started there.

To her surprise, nothing. Not a drop. Twisting the handle back and forth a couple times utterly failed to convince the thing to produce any water, so she tossed her hands up with a disgusted cry.

_I've got fifteen minutes before breakfast and the pendejo shower isn't working? Does this ship have an engineering department or what? _

Back to the sink with a little muttering to make herself feel better. Whore's bath, then. As much as she despised the term it was the only option available other than walking around all day without a wash. Maybe they'd have it fixed before Beta shift started. Vulcan women were supposed to have noses as sharp as knives. Wouldn't do to offend the command officer. But before she could twist the handle she heard something.

Stilling herself to listen, she didn't hear anything else at first. It had been faint. Maybe even out in the corridor, if it had been loud enough at the source.

There again. Someone yelling?

Marisa marched right out of the bathroom to stomp toward the door across the room. She was in no mood. If someone was out there throwing a party or something at 0545 hours she was going to curse up a blue streak.

Tapping the door controls she caught a flash of someone running by down the hall outside as the door opened. Still in her underwear she poked her head out to see what the heck was going on, finding Ensign Parsons standing not two meters away. Whoever had just run by was already disappearing in a panic around the bend. Kathryn from down the hall, maybe? But Parsons was staring in shock at something on the other side of her…

So she turned around to look back the other way.

There were people in the corridor down there. _Transparent _people. Milling around, doing…she had no idea what. As she watched, one of them walked right through the port wall like it wasn't even there.

_Que chingados?_

Forgetting her state of attire for the moment she stepped fully into the corridor to get a better look, completely despite herself.

Yup. Still there.

Looking back at Parsons she found him looking at her with the same expression of disbelief she figured she must be wearing herself.

"I…I don't know." He whispered, before turning his attention to the people down the hall.

Marisa looked back again. One of them seemed to be speaking to one of the others, though she couldn't be sure. The whole scene was bizarrely casual, as if the group held get togethers in the halls of the _Vigilant _all the time. It suddenly occurred to her the phantom guests were _working_. Consulting unseen intruments and referring silently to one another as to the results. They were at least twenty meters away. But she should have been able to hear _something_. It was completely quiet in the corridor. And one of them suddenly stood out from the others down there. Looking right at her.

A woman, perhaps thirty years old at most. She was saying something to her and Marisa found herself completely entranced with the woman. But she couldn't hear anything. Why couldn't she hear anything? The gossamer figure down there was beginning to grow frantic, pointing at the starboard wall. There was nothing there. She started screaming at Marisa but not a breathe of sound could be heard. Somewhere way, way back in her mind, Marisa began to feel fear. Try as it might it couldn't break through whatever charm the ghostly woman had over her. But it tried. It tried very hard.

And then suddenly, without warning, something…_pulled _them. Snatching them all, screaming quietly, through the air to starboard. And then they were gone.

All of them, in a blink. And Marisa found the fear erupting at last in her chest. With a whimper, she stumbled back into Parsons, who was kind enough to catch before she fell on her butt.

"What…what the hell was that?!" She stuttered, grasping his shoulder with one hand.

Parsons helped her regain her feet, a little shaky himself. "I don't know. I heard someone scream and came out here and…they were just _there_."

Marisa slapped the hair out of her eyes, staring down the now empty corridor. There was nothing there. They were all gone. If they'd even _been _there to begin with…

But something…a sound…

She cocked her head. "Do you hear that?"

Parsons listened for a brief second. "No. What?"

"Sounds like…"

She took a cautious step in that direction. Searching...

The open door. There, to those quarters. Where the woman had pointed. _Inside that room_, not the wall. A whistling, multiplying, growing louder and more shrill…

"Oh, God…"

The siren blared suddenly in the hall and the alert sounded.

"_Decompression alert! Deck E, section 12! All hands, emergency stations!"_

Rodriguez had experienced moments in the past when time seemed to slow, even almost to stop. That one time, when the _Huesos _gang had shot her brother in Tampico...

The bulkhead was right _behind _Parsons. And the sound was growing. With each slowly thudding heartbeat, a thousand times louder. More insistent, _screaming.._.

The starboard wall of the corridor caved before her eyes, in slow motion, bending and twisting an entire five meter section outward. She could _see _the air rushing along the wall to pour out through the hole. Between heartbeats she heard the door swish against the housing behind her. She turned her head and crouched, the movement insanely slow, taking forever, until she could see just how little time she really had.

As she dove, demanding impossible strength from her legs to power the tackle she executed on Parsons, she managed one crystal clear thought as she impacted him, driving them both between the doors closing in on them.

"_Hijo de puta, I was supposed to have three more years_."

**********

"Captain Farrell, this interrogation will progress more efficiently if you were to offer your cooperation…"

"I thought I'd been relieved of command, ensign."

"Very well. Commander Farrell, if you would respond to Ensign P'Trell's questions we can conclude this interrogation in a timely manner and move forward to charges. As it stands, the situation requires our attention on the bridge. I'm sure you will agree…"

"Piss off."

Inside the cramped holding cell Richard Farrell sat on the bed, his back against the wall. Arms folded, he had yet to respond appropriately to any of the questions asked of him or even make eye contact. He had remained in that position since first thrust into the cell by P'Trell. Though he was clearly overwrought, T'Pril held hope that he would offer something to illuminate the events surrounding the encounter with _Stardancer_.

T'Pril decided to try another avenue.

"Commander Farrell. Lieutenant Sara Quinn is dead. As is Lieutenant Tuffilik Gaver. And Ensigns Samantha Flair, Marvin Brinkley, Toya Vela and Nathan McGuire. Additionally two other officers are reported missing. Considering the circumstances, it is possible they have likewise met with their end. It would behoove you, in honor of their service, to offer your full cooperation in this matter."

She expected an emotional outburst of some sort at that. Perhaps even a raving diatribe. But at least in such an instance some manner of communication would take place, possibly leading to admissions and information that might shed light on recent events.

But Farrell did not respond. He simply sat and stared at the wall.

"Very well. If you decide at a later time to cooperate in the interests of justice, notify your guard and I will return to take your statement."

T'Pril moved to exit the brig. P'Trell, who had surprisingly exercised only mildly questionable behavior during the interrogation, moved to follow her. Trindi and the two officers under her command were off tracking down Lieutenant Commander Kruger to place him under arrest at the moment.

Which brought to her mind the lack of space in the brig for three prisoners. Which in turn caused her to glance speculatively into the adjoining cell as she passed. Finding it empty. She realized quickly that she could not recall if the man had been in evidence when they'd first entered with Farrell.

Coming to a halt, she turned to the guard.

"Where is the second prisoner?"

"Ma'am?"

"The survivor recovered from the _Stardancer_." She pointed casually to the empty room. "The man who, at last report, occupied this holding cell."

The security officer on duty had the good grace to leap forward instantly to peer into the cell himself. Confirming that it was empty, he snapped his attention back to T'Pril.

"He was there before…" He reported stiffly.

"He escaped?" Exclaimed P'Trell. "A half-dead civilian prisoner _escaped_?! Is _that _what you're suggesting?"

The officer's mouth opened and closed for a moment before he could decide what he wanted to say.

"I…was on duty when Captain Farrell and Commander Kruger interrogated him. He was there then. And afterwards, I saw him myself. I've been here ever since..."

"And you didn't notice the man walk out of here right in front of you?" Demanded P'Trell.

"No one walked out of here while I was on duty." The officer responded with offense.

"Ensign, if that…!"

T'Pril interrupted, silencing him. "Report to your fellow security officers. Inform them that the prisoner has escaped and has been at large for an unknown time. They are to apprehend him on sight and escort him to the secondary meeting room on deck E, where he is to be kept on level one watch until I arrive to interview him. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well. Carry on."

She turned to leave the brig without further delay, P'Trell scrambling after her in outrage.

"That's it? A prisoner disappears…?!"

"We have more pressing concerns at the moment, Ensign."

P'Trell fumed but had little choice but to follow or be left behind. In moments they'd reached the port turbo lift, boarding it to head for the bridge. Almost immediately an alert sounded.

"_Decompression alert! Deck E, section 12! All hands, emergency stations!"_

P'Trell's reflexes betrayed him as he depressed the button to halt the lift the instant the location was mentioned. They were just passing deck E.

The two were of like mind, however. Stepping through as the doors opened they dashed up the corridor toward section 12. Up ahead, on the floor, two officers lay embracing in front of the secured bulkhead. As they ran up T'Pril noted the female was clad only in her underwear.

"On your feet." She ordered, once she'd properly arrived.

The male snapped his head up in surprise. The female's head remained buried in his chest.

"I…she saved my life…" The male sputtered.

T'Pril raised one eyebrow at that before suddenly identifying the woman.

"Ensign Rodriguez, would you care to explain this behavior? Considering a severe decompression has occurred directly at your feet, it is extremely inappropriate to say the least."

T'Pril suppressed a frown of disapproval and confusion at the muffled laughter that erupted from the woman.


	19. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 19

_**Author's Note: **_

_There is, was and will be absolutely no intention on my part to inject any particular political correctness, political in-correctness or social commentary of any kind whatsoever into this story._

_As it happens, the main characters in this tale are all based (very, very loosely but nevertheless) on folks that I know personally. So in the process of allowing free roaming character development to just spill out however it likes, we have the characters we do, with the backgrounds we do and whatever dialogue taking place between those characters that they darned well like._

_I am not a big fan of political correctness and, I assure you, will take offense were I to be accused of such behavior. So let's just let that lie and breeze on by._

_That said, hope you're enjoying the story so far and any various hiccups and road bumps along the way don't detract too much from that enjoyment. - Mary Contrary_

_

* * *

_

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

Striding onto the bridge, T'Pril directed the Andorian officer tailing her to the Tactical Station with a sharp gesture, continuing on to the ready room without pause. Nearly all of the bridge crew attempted to elicit her attention as she passed but she ignored them for now. Entering the room she found Ensign West still at work at the console.

Approaching, she inquired. "Ensign, have you made any progress?"

From West's furrowed and slightly sweaty brow, as well as the look of irritation plainly evident on her face, T'Pril could guess the response before it was offered.

"No. Not much. I'm sorry, I'm trying but…this encryption is just _insane_…" West shook her head in frustration.

"Discontinue your efforts and report to your quarters for rest. Beta shift begins in 7 hours and 12 minutes. I will require you fully alert at that time."

West stared at her for a moment.

"So I take it Captain Farrell's under arrest then?"

"He is. And security officers are searching for Lieutenant Commander Kruger at present. Lieutenant Quinn unfortunately is dead."

West closed her eyes in grief for a moment. "What happened to her?"

"An anomalous malfunction with certain medical equipment, resulting in electrocution. Regardless, I am left with no choice in how next to respond. Currently Lieutenant Commander McArthur is required in his capacity as Chief Engineer and would not be able to command effectively."

"So you're taking command." West said quietly.

"I am. You are dismissed, ensign."

T'Pril waited, then followed her out of the ready room. As she entered the turbo lift, T'Pril moved to the command chair, granting the bridge crew her attention at last. She decided to begin with Foster, as he seemed the most agitated.

"Ensign Foster, report."

"Well, thank you." He replied bitterly. "I've got a hunk of hull missing from the ship, starboard side, with two quarters on deck E open to space. No sign of explosion or impact. My visual shows it's just missing. Vanished."

"I may have it." Ensign Summers chimed in from Communications. T'Pril turned to her. "Transporter room reports it kicked on all by itself an hour ago. It started dropping small bits of metal into the chamber a handful at a time. Then it dropped three big chucks all at once just as the decompression alert sounded."

T'Pril raised an eyebrow. "They suspect the transporter locked on independently to that section of the hull and dismantled it?" She asked.

"That's the best they can come up with." Summers shrugged tiredly.

"That's not possible." Foster argued, frowning.

Summers didn't bother arguing further, slumping back into her chair instead. She was clearly fatigued.

"Ensign Foster, were there any casualties associated with the decompression?"

"No. Fortunately it hit right as breakfast was served. Both quarters were unoccupied at the time. We've got two crewmen still trapped in their quarters but engineering estimates they'll have them out in an hour or so."

"Very good. Helm, your report?" T'Pril inquired.

Stone responded quickly, apparently still alert. "We've lost propulsion several times, only once for more than a minute. Course corrections each time with no problem, minimal disruption. Navigation has proven unreliable, though. It's all over the place. We're flying eyeball more often than not."

"Tactical."

P'Trell answered promptly. "I see Armory reports a few malfunctions, nothing they haven't been able to handle. Weapon systems look good. We're all green at the moment."

"Sensors."

"We're blind half the time." Duvall replied. "Sensor ghosts are clogging everything, coming and going with no discernible pattern. Visual's proven reliable with only a few connection difficulties. Currently we're clear, getting strong returns on all scans but it could drop at any time."

"Very well. Has anyone anything further to report?"

Summers spoke up again. "I'm hearing voices on all channels. Some responsive, some not. Half are unintelligible, the other half just don't make any sense. Don't bother asking me for insights because I don't have any I'm willing to put on the record."

"Off the record?"

Summers hesitated. "I'd rather not."

"Very well. What is the status of our sensor relay deployment?"

"All away." She nodded, with visible relief. "Strong returns from all of them, whenever communications is working enough to detect them. No signs the Well has interfered with their operation at all, in fact."

"Helm, time to completion of our scanner orbit?"

"Estimate…9 hours at current speed, barring setbacks. Which we're suffering more and more of as time goes by." Stone replied.

"Very well. Ensign Summers, prior to the detection of the _Stardancer _I noticed that you had managed to route communications through the sensor relays in some manner. Are you able to do the same through the relay's subspace amplifiers?"

Summers looked quizzical for a moment. "You mean, bounce a subspace transmission through them?"

"Yes."

"Uh…no. I don't think so. No, that wouldn't work."

"Explain."

"Well, the relays just don't operate that way. All they're designed for is to detect displacements and comm traffic, passive sensors essentially, then broadcast an encrypted feed back through the chain. Basically, we can talk to them all we like but all they'll do is notify Starfleet that we're out here talking to them. They won't relay what we're _saying_. They can talk to each other though and that's what I tapped into before."

T'Pril pondered quietly for a moment.

"Very well, ensign. Is the ship wide channel currently functioning?"

"Yes, it is."

"Open it now."

T'Pril waited for the nod from Summers before proceeding, using the time to gather her resolve.

"This is Ensign T'Pril, all hands."

"At 0550 hours, Captain Richard Farrell was taken into custody by security officers and placed under arrest on suspicion of criminal conspiracy, violation of Starfleet rules of engagement and accomplice to murder, among other charges. Under Starfleet Order 102 and Regulations Article 7, paragraph 5, I have relieved Commander Farrell of command and ordered him confined to the brig."

"Orders have been issued for the arrest of Lieutenant Commander Emil Kruger, on suspicion of murder and identical charges to those levied against Commander Farrell. He is to be considered armed and dangerous. Anyone with knowledge of his whereabouts should report to security immediately."

"At this time, in light of the demands placed upon Lieutenant Commander McArthur in his capacity as Chief Engineer, by the needs of the ship, I am assuming direct command of the _Vigilant_ until such time as subspace communications can be reestablished with Starfleet Command, deferring to their direction at that time."

"As all sensor relays have been deployed successfully and despite our failure to complete the scanner orbit of Widow's Well, I am ordering the _Vigilant _off mission to reestablish communications with Starfleet Command. We will report our current status and condition, awaiting further instructions at that time. That is all."

T'Pril gestured to the Summers to kill the channel, then turned to Ensign Stone.

"Helm, plot a course to the nearest point where subspace communications are undisrupted by the singularity. Engage at best speed when ready."

T'Pril paused, half expecting an outcry of some sort but the bridge crew appeared to be more in mild shock than anything else. Noting that Ensign Stone was at least changing course as she'd been commanded, T'Pril took advantage of the moment and turned to the Tactical Station.

"Ensign P'Trell, please acknowledge my command in the log and upgrade my access authorization accordingly. Report when you have done so."

"Already done." P'Trell smirked. "I was ready for it yesterday. What took you so long?"

T'Pril decided not to turn the chair over to him, as she had just intended. She turned to Engineering instead. "Ensign Foster, you have the chair. I will be in the ready room. Ensign Duvall, come with me."

**********

Jennifer West arrived at her the door to her quarters, only to find Marisa there waiting for her. In her underwear.

"Uh…Rodriguez. What in the world are you doing?" She exclaimed.

Marisa slumped in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I need clothes, Jenny."

"Yeah, you sure do. Come on." She moved quickly to key her door, allowing them both in.

Jenny found that Nikki was still out cold on the bed and was amazed that she apparently hadn't been disturbed at all the ruckus over the last few hours. She went straight to the closet to begin rooting around for a spare uniform.

"So what happened to _you_? And this ought to be interesting."

"My quarters are in section 12." Marisa grumped.

Jenny stopped to gape at her. That's right. She hadn't realized.

Marisa nodded. "I was out in the corridor when the decompression alarm went off. Tackled Parsons through the bulkhead just before we got stuck on the wrong side."

"Are you alright?" She asked with concern. She could see now that Marisa was still a bit shaky.

"Yeah, I'm…well, no but…" She sighed. "It was…intense." Of course, there was a lot more to it than that but Marisa wasn't quite prepared to share that part yet.

"I can imagine. No one was hurt though, right?"

"I actually hadn't heard yet." Marisa frowned.

"Hold on, I think I have something for you here." Jenny produced a spare uniform at last. "Blue stripe instead of gold. And…" She eyed Ensign Rodriguez speculatively for a moment. "Definitely going to be a little tight in the bust, hon."

"Well, it's better than what I've got. Gimme here."

Jenny folded the uniform and tossed it over. "Anyway, yes. No one was hurt from what I understand. Okay?"

"That's good." Marisa nodded, slipping her legs into the suit. "That's all I could lay there thinking about the whole time. I had a death grip on Parsons' butt. Poor guy's gonna bruise, I think."

"Well, then you got to wrestle with Hunky Joe a little. So, lucky you." Jenny said with a grin.

Marisa snorted in amusement. "Not really how I swing."

"Not into hunkies?" Jenny asked, producing a pair of shoes.

"Not into 'Joes'."

Marisa bit a her tongue at that, wishing she hadn't said anything. She really had no idea about Jenny but she was fairly…_athletic _for a science officer. She liked her but that was precisely the _last _thing she wanted to stir up.

Jenny tossed her the shoes and turned to look for socks before finally catching on. "Ooooh. I didn't know."

"Well, I don't exactly advertise. Too busy for anything the last four years."

"The Academy does take a bite out of one's personal life." Jenny chuckled.

"Personal _what_?" Marisa snickered back, catching the socks Jenny tossed her at last. "And anyway, there was somebody for a while. Didn't really go well."

"Oooh, spill."

Marisa hesitated, pulling up one sock. "Well…just between you and me…"

Jenny nodded eagerly. Why, yes, of course.

"Meadows."

Jenny gasped. "No way!" So now she knew who "Stormy" Meadows had gotten booted out of the Academy over.

Marisa shrugged, laughing. "Hey, surprised me too. But let me tell you, she was as crazy as she was cute." Putting on the other shoe, she sighed darkly then. "Always are, I guess. And really, I think I'm done with all that. Too much drama. Always the drama."

Jenny shut the closet, patting it with one hand. "So, going strictly professional?"

Marisa stood up from the table, grimacing and tugging the uniform in all the uncomfortable places. "Well, if it's going to be like _this _all the time…" She looked vaguely around. "Not much choice anyway. I can't see making time for more than a hump in a supply closet somewhere. But, no. I'm thinking maybe I'll try the other side."

Jenny nodded politely, trying not to show relief. She liked Marisa but did _not _want to go _there_.

Marisa thought for a moment. "And come to think of it, I probably could have gotten cozy with Parsons, if I'd had another minute to get over being absolutely terrified. That boy was comfy." She waggled her eyebrows at West.

When Jenny grinned, Marisa added. "Remind me to tell you later about Prilly and Trilly coming up on _that _little scene. Funny stuff."

Jenny snickered, then sobered as a thought occurred to her. "Hm. I don't think I'd recommend Parsons if it's your first time out of the gate, girl." She tilted her hand in an 'iffy' gesture. "He's got a little bit of a rep'. It's a nice ride that doesn't go anywhere."

"Oooh, your turn to spill." Marisa said with a smirk.

"Nope, not me. Strictly professional up to this point. Besides, I'm considering shaking that up with a sensor sweep at blue boy." Her turn to waggle eyebrows.

Marisa frowned. "Ew, really?"

Jenny was affronted. "What? He's seriously stacked. And a _very _nice bad boy aura."

"Yeah, but he's _blue_."

Jenny folded her arms defensively. "Blue's good. I _like _blue."

"Well, whatever. To each their own, I suppose. So, how do I look?" Marisa displayed herself.

Jenny had already noticed the zipper had barely gotten halfway up her chest. "Yeah. You look like a slutty Science Officer."

Marisa nodded decisively. "Works for me."

Jenny nodded back, rubbing her hands together. "Okay, then let's get you down to Supply. You can _not _report for duty in that."

"Okay, breakfast first? I'm starving."

Jenny turned at that to nudge Nikki a little. "Nikki, honey. I'm going for breakfast. What do you want?"

Nikki peered through barely broken eyelids. "Uh huh." She mumbled, before going right back to sleep.

Jenny snorted, grinning. "Well, I'll just get something." She said the Marisa. "She likes _everything_."

**********

Out in the corridor the two hiked around to the mess hall, dodging engineering teams still ripping up half the ship and security teams blocking off the other half. They'd begun to wonder if they'd ever get to eat.

"So what the heck happened while I was asleep?" Marisa said, as they passed a blackened crater in the wall. Someone would have mentioned if they'd come under attack at least. But that's sure what it was beginning to look like.

"Oh. That's right." Jenny said with surprise. "You missed everything."

She took a deep breath as they hurried along. "Well, you heard T'Pril. I don't know any more about that than you, except I think everyone thought Farrell was responsible for Lieutenant Gaver. Looks like they're thinking it was Kruger now, though."

"Then P'Trell went after the captain, got himself confined to quarters over that. And a while later T'Pril and Trindi went and got him out. That's when everyone went after Farrell. Which, by the way, she had me trying to crack the sensor log he locked down. Other than that…everything's been going haywire. You would not believe. And Lieutenant Quinn…God, electrocuted in _sickbay_."

Marisa was horrified. "What happened?"

"I don't know. But we lost four or five other crewmen, too. Jefferson…do you know him? Tall, blue eyed Science Officer. Biology Specialist. He was standing right next to a power relay when it just exploded. No one knows why. Same thing all over the ship."

Marisa was speechless. Then she noticed Jenny had stopped in the middle of the corridor.

"What?"

Jenny looked around curiously. "Have you noticed?"

Marisa cast her eyes around. "No. What?"

"I mean nothing's exploding. Gravplates aren't failing, lights aren't going out. Nothing."

Marisa cocked an eyebrow up at that. "Uh…that's a good thing."

Jenny frowned. "Yeah, but…it hasn't let up for hours. I mean, it's been off and on but this is the first real stretch of…well, _not _exploding we've had in a while."

Marisa looked around again. Jenny was right. Other than the welding going on around the bend…it was relatively quiet.

"Huh." She remarked. "Well, don't jinx…"

The floor suddenly lurched under her feet, enough to send her off balance into the port wall. Sliding down sharply to land on her butt, she 'oofed' before getting a grip on herself again. When it was clear the ship had done all the dancing it was going to do for the moment, she chuckled.

"Well, guess you _did _jinx us…" She said to Jenny, grinning.

But Jenny wasn't moving.

**********

Duvall stared at the screen. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even after a second go through, he still couldn't believe it. But there it was. Two small displacements accelerating out from the _Vigilant_, both with distinct signatures. Photonic torpedoes. Impact, a distinguished set of energy spikes indicating hull fracture. And…organic debris.

Certainly he could see how _Stardancer's _initial appearance on sensors could easily have been mistaken for a Romulan ship decloaking…but even a second glance would have confirmed what it was. A civilian vessel lost in sensor hash from the Well.

"Ensign Duvall, please confirm my interpretation of these sensor readings."

Duvall hesitated. "I'm…seeing just what you're seeing." He muttered, grimly. "The _Stardancer _was fired upon with no provocation and in violation of the rules of engagement. I don't know what else you want me to say."

T'Pril was quiet for a moment.

"I understand this is difficult, ensign." She said carefully. "Do not misinterpret my lack of emotion. This is an extremely grave incident which will be treated with decorum and strictest propriety. You may return to your station."

Duvall turned away but stopped abruptly.

"I don't understand…how he could do this." Duvall seemed suddenly lost. "I mean, I understand what happened. Obviously they were expecting Romulans in the Well. And that looked at first glance like a bird of prey decloaking. And so someone panics…so…I understand that. It's terrible but I can see how it could happen."

T'Pril turned to face him squarely but remained silent.

Duvall shook his head, baffled. "I just can't understand why they would…try to _hide _what had happened. It doesn't make any sense."

"I agree. I also fail to understand." She said quietly.

Duvall just shook his head. "And why lock the sensor log and then just sit on it? What was he going to do with it? Erase it? Alter it? You can't do either once it's locked that way. You'd have to crack open the computer core. It…just doesn't make any sense."

Duvall stared at her bewildered. She realized he desperately desired an answer but she wasn't at all confident she could offer what he needed. But she endeavored to make the attempt anyway.

"I can only speculate that the captain either hoped to eventually be able to devise some method of obscuring what had occurred. Or perhaps he secretly hoped that he would be discovered. But it is unlikely that we will ever know the full truth."

Duvall shook his head again. At length he departed for the bridge again, muttering. "I just can't believe it."

Left alone in the ready room, T'Pril was lost in contemplation herself. No, there was no logic in it. Ensign Duvall was correct about that. Many of the things we do lack logic.

_Many of things I've done have been illogical. _She thought.

With that the inevitable recollection of Steven. Her wild rage, the fear in his eyes. Red blood on his face. His beautiful face.

For the first time in a very long time, emotion peeked cautiously out beyond the walls she'd so meticulously constructed. Pain. Desperation. Shame. All vied briefly for dominance in her eyes.

Until her breath hitched and she realized that she'd allowed sentiment to rule her, leading her down a path of pointless, counterproductive indulgence. She stifled it quickly. In less than a second her eyes cleared, her face stilled and calm descended. And beautiful Steven was only a memory, tucked away in his proper place. With all other meaningless memories.

Collecting herself she took a deep breath. Upon it's release she was in complete control again. There was no emotion. Only logic.

Taking her first confident step toward the ready room door to enter the bridge, the ship lurched sharply. With one hand she caught herself on the edge of the console and kept her balance until the gyrations had ceased.

When it was clear that they had, she moved quickly to the bridge again.


	20. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 20

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

T'Pril stepped onto the bridge, noting Ensign Duvall was already at his station, working furiously. At the Helm, Roselyn Stone didn't wait for acknowledgment before reporting this time.

"Propulsion's gone haywire. I'm trying to correct but it's…fighting me. Navigation's down, visual and internals show we're full stop and spinning."

"Engineering, report."

"I have no idea." Foster snapped anxiously. "I'm not even reading thruster fire from here at all. None. Engineering reported the opposite, seeing all thrusters firing simultaneously and overheating."

Overheating? The _thrusters_? T'Pril blinked.

"Yes, ma'am. I know." Foster replied. "But that's what they reported. Heat exchange failures at all points."

T'Pril was disturbed that she'd been so easy to read. She was clearly overdue for meditation.

Foster continued. "But if that were so we'd have a heck of a lot more vibe than we've got. It would have ripped this ship apart already."

"Helm?" T'Pril inquired.

"Still fighting. I don't know what's got us but it's…I'm not crazy, I can read a heading. It's correcting me. Sluggish and irregular, but it's correcting everything I'm doing."

Stone was beginning to become emotional, T'Pril noted.

"Summers, contact…"

"No go. Comm's down." She reported stiffly.

T'Pril knew instantly that wasn't correct. She could hear chatter from across the bridge over the earpiece Summers had abandoned atop the console.

"Ensign, what are you receiving?"

Summers looked slightly panicked. "Just…static…"

T'Pril stared at her. Until Summers finally reached hesitantly to the console.

_Screaming _erupted from the bridge speakers. Alarm, terror, the sound of a thousand voices all vying to be heard. None of them intelligible.

After a moment Summers killed the feed. "That's…it's…all channels." She stuttered.

The bridge was quiet for a moment. Until Foster broke the stillness. "What the hell…?" He said.

T'Pril thought fiercely for a moment, searching for some response to the situation.

Ensign Stone jerked away from the ship's controls suddenly before she announced. "Full stop. Spin's correcting…no spin."

"Heading?" T'Pril demanded.

Stone adjusted something on the console, then paused before reporting. "Full about…we're looking back down the Well."

"Attempt course correction."

Stone went to work. After only a moment, she slapped the console with a grunt. "No response. No helm control."

T'Pril considered Summers for a moment before turning to the security officer still on alert at the lift. "Ensign Ricks…"

The man was clearly stunned at what he was witnessing and failed to respond.

"Ensign Ricks!" She attempted again, with greater volume. His attention jerked to her. "You will proceed directly to engineering as quickly as you can. Instruct Lieutenant McArthur…"

"We just went to warp!" Cried Stone. "I've got…warp 3.5...correction, 3.8...climbing…"

T'Pril waited.

"4.4 and holding."

She turned to Science. "Ensign Duvall, calculate our trajectory through visual."

Duvall fumbled with the controls for a moment. "Uh…it's not accurate…I have to do the math…"

"Then do so quickly."

"I…to within 2 degrees…right at the Well, I think…maybe off angle a hair…"

"Not that it matters." Muttered P'Trell at Tactical.

"A more precise heading, Ensign."

Duvall worked quietly for a moment, his stiff back denoting a single-minded focus.

"From Widow's center, off 4.4 degrees port, down 6.8."

T'Pril considered for a moment.

"Ensign Foster, current escape pod status."

Foster hesitated only a moment before consulting his console. "All green…but…all escape pod access hatches are no power. Engineering completed that assignment earlier."

Of course. "Shuttle bay doors as well?"

"Yes, captain." Foster gulped.

"Very well." Though she was caught off guard at the use of the title, no one else seemed to notice. And it seemed inconsequential at the moment anyway.

"Captain…" Ensign Duvall said hesitantly. T'Pril suppressed the hysterical thought that it seemed to be catching.

"Duvall?"

"I…this heading…Stone, what's the _Stardancer's _last projected drift?"

As Stone consulted her console, T'Pril did the math quickly herself. Yes. Of course.

"That's it." Stone announced grimly. "We're heading right for her."

T'Pril responded instantly. Now at least she had something she could work with. "Time to intercept?

"I have…" Stone's fingers played over the controls. "…one minute, 42 seconds…"

"Got her!" Duvall interrupted. "At long range but we're closing fast. Sensors are choppy but that's her. Zero orientation."

"Tactical, ready report."

P'Trell spoke sharply. "All green."

"Tactical alert. Polarize hull plating, power weapons. Lock on _Stardancer _when she comes in range." T'Pril ordered.

"_Tactical alert! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!"_

"What do you have in mind, captain?" P'Trell asked. At least she didn't respond hysterically to the title this time, she noted.

"I would prefer not to impact the _Stardancer_, Ensign."

"We can't fire at warp without breaking deflection on our own torpedoes…"

"Duly noted. Lock onto _Stardancer _when she comes in range and maintain lock."

Turning quickly to the security officer, she continued. "Ensign Ricks, do I have your attention?"

The security officer was focused again, she noted, and he responded sharply. "Yes, captain."

"Very well. Proceed directly to engineering as quickly as you can. Instruct Lieutenant McArthur to calculate required attitude adjustment, send engineering teams to access port attitude thrusters manually and bring the ship about 180 degrees. Do you understand so far?"

"Yes, captain." The officer nodded confidently.

"Simultaneous to this, at his determination, he is to instigate a warp core breach and eject the core, to detonate no less than 50k and no farther than 75k to aft. Do you understand?"

"That…yes, captain."

"Finally, instruct him that any…"

"Captain." Stone, at the helm.

"Yes, ensign?"

"We're reducing speed. Warp…2.8...falling…"

T'Pril waited.

"Holding 1.5...I'm seeing no…we've dropped out warp!" Stone exclaimed. "Mild drift port, no spin."

"Range to _Stardancer_?"

"25k…oriented 2k off bow, up 500 meters…impulse is up again! We're at .2 and climbing!"

"Have you regained helm control?"

"Negative. No control."

"Tactical?"

"Solid lock, all green." P'Trell reported.

"We're at full impulse now." Stone announced.

T'Pril turned to the security officer again. "Belay last orders. Proceed directly to engineering and instruct Lieutenant McArthur to attempt manual control of impulse thrusters. Have him form a message relay team between the bridge and engineering. Go now."

As the officer dove into the lift, T'Pril turned again to the Science Station.

"Duvall, sensor status."

"All clear. Strong returns."

"Tie into Tactical. Ensign Foster, status?"

"Propulsion is…I can't get any reliable reading on anything. Conflicting reports…"

"All other systems?"

"Uh…all good. I guess. Nothing unusual."

T'Pril suddenly noticed something had changed.

Right. Summers' earpiece was quiet.

"Communications, status?"

Summers jerked. "Wha…what?" Her eyes were glazed over.

"Focus, ensign. Report."

Summers stumbled forward and picked up the earpiece. Then stared at it in her hand.

"Ensign Summers."

No response.

"Foster, go immediately to deck E. Wake Ensign Garrett and escort him to the bridge for relief. Go now."

As Foster darted around his station to the lift, T'Pril approached the Communications Station to take the earpiece from Summers' hand. Unresponsive, the communications officer barely noticed as T'Pril pushed her carefully aside.

"Ensign Summers, you are relieved. Report to sickbay."

T'Pril brushed past her and clipped the earpiece into place as she sat, working the communications board. Summers stood staring at her numbly.

"Ensign Stone, escort Summers to sickbay and return immediately." T'Pril said at last, focused on the console before her.

Stone moved quickly to take Summers in hand.

"Come on, girl." She said gently, leading her toward the lift.

**********

Jenny's eyes opened sluggishly, until something somewhere noticed she was waking and the pain in her head began demanding her attention.

"Ow." She said weakly, raising one hand to her head.

"Ensign West, you have sustained a concussion. Remain at rest."

Sulok? Yes, had to be. Am I in sickbay? What happened?

"Momma?"

Nikki! Jenny's eyes sprang open and the light in the room instantly drove hard iron spikes into her brain.

"Ow!" she responded, more confidently this time.

"You 'stained a concussion. Don't move, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay, yeah." Oh, wow. That hurt. A really whole lot.

Sulok had moved on it seemed. But Nikki was at her right, holding her hand.

"Baby, you okay?" She rasped.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You hit your head on the wall, though. _You _okay?" Nikki was worried.

"Oh, I've got a killer headache here. But I guess I'm alright." She winced at the throbbing but it was almost tolerable.

Something moved to her left. "This is a pain suppressant, Ensign. It will decrease your discomfort but you will endeavor to remain awake. Understood?"

The doc again. "Right. Got it, doc." And thank you, doc!

The injector hissed at her neck and she instantly felt relief wash over her. Pushing her luck a bit, she opened her eyes again. Slowly this time.

No iron spikes at least.

Looking over at Nikki she could see stark concern twisting her little face.

"Hey, I'm okay, baby." She smiled, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"I know, momma. Doctor Sulok said." Nikki smiled. Not a very convincing smile but good enough to put her own concerns to rest a bit.

"What…hey, where's Marisa? Is she okay?"

"Uh huh. She over there with the MACO's." Nikki pointed.

West craned her head to look but couldn't see anything laying down. Taking a chance she sat up slowly, on alert for any further acts of aggression on her body's part. Though she was a bit dizzy, she managed it. Finally she could see Marisa and two MACO's standing over another recovery bed across from her. She couldn't make out who was in the bed but Marisa noticed she was moving around and made her way over. She'd managed to change her uniform at least, Jenny noticed.

"Hey, you. Decided not to go for the medical discharge after all, huh?"

West grinned, trying to focus a bit. "I guess so. Did I dent the wall?"

"Yup. Big old dimple. Engineering's putting a plaque up now to commemorate. Everyone's impressed."

West rubbed her eyes, laughing. "What did I miss?"

Marisa folded her arms and shrugged. "Not a thing, if you can believe it. Ship jerked around a bit but nothing exploded that I've heard. Oh." She suddenly realized, gesturing over her shoulder. "Morales got himself shot, though."

"Major Morales? MACO commander?"

What, _shot_?

"Yup. We don't know who, yet. Rumor is Kruger got him. Unconfirmed, though. But other than the security teams, he's the only one running around with a phase pistol that I know of."

"God. Is he okay?"

"Oh, yeah. He's over there complaining about it right now. Doc won't let him leave. He didn't see who got him. Took one in the back. Which _really _pisses him off, apparently." Marisa snickered.

"Why can't they find Kruger? I thought they'd have him in the brig by now."

Nikki chimed in then. "He's in the Jeffries tubes. Achilla was saying before. They keep finding him with the sensors but then he just gets lost in there before they can catch him."

Nikki apparently found that very exciting.

"And she said…the man from the _Stardancer_? They keep finding him too but no one can catch him neither. He was in the Science Labs one time and scared Miss Grossman. But they _still _didn't catch him."

"Well, you stay right here, honey." West patted her hand. "I don't want you getting in the middle of any of that, alright?"

"Okay." Nikki nodded.

"So, you're caught up on the scuttlebutt." Marisa nodded, then pointed to her left. "Got you breakfast. I'd ask Sulok before you try to eat, though. You got a nasty bump on your head there."

"Yeah." Nikki announced. "Doctor Sulok says you could _puke_." She giggled.

Jenny smiled. "Well, that doesn't sound like fun. I'm starving, though. What do we have?"

"Eggs, bacon, toast. Orange juice. Didn't know what you liked so I just got the traditional." Marisa nodded. "So, if you're good I'm getting back to Rico. Keep up on the latest."

Rico? "I'm good. I'm going to try not to puke over here."

"Yeah, okay. You do that." Marisa grinned and patted her foot before scooting back to the MACO across the room.

"_She likes him." _Nikki whispered covertly._ "'Cause he says 'ma'am' to her all the time_."

"_Is that right?" _West whispered back with a grin.

"_Uh huh. And he's got the same tattoo like she does." _Nikki gestured vaguely at her chest.

"_Tattoo? Marisa has a tattoo?"_

"_Yeah. It's a little man with a black head and big eyes and a green helmet with a broom on it. And he's got big shoes." _She whispered. _"Marvin. I saw it." _

Jenny just stared. No idea.

Oh. Morales was from Mars. Of course. But Marisa was from... Wait, _what_?

"_You saw it?" _She asked her daughter.

"_Uh huh. She showed it to him. 'Cause he doesn't have his shirt on 'cause he was shot. And the MACO's all laughed and Doctor Sulok got them all in trouble." _Nikki nodded seriously.

On her chest? Jenny hadn't noticed any tattoo back in her quarters…whoa…which meant…

She could only gape at Nikki, who nodded back solemnly. It was serious business, because they all got in trouble.

"_Marisa_!" She hissed, turning quickly in the other direction.

Marisa looked back, startled. "What?"

"_Get over here!" _Jenny gestured sharply.

Marisa ambled around, frowning. "What? What is it?"

"You're _flashing _people in here? Have you lost your mind?" She whispered urgently.

Marisa looked surprised before frowning at Nikki. "Hey, you little tattle tale!"

Nikki frowned right back at Marisa, muttering. "I din' do nothin'."

"Are you _trying _to get a reprimand?" Jenny asked, incredulously.

"Hey, he was getting on my nerves with all the whining." Marisa frowned at Jenny. "And, you know, I noticed the tattoo…so…" She shrugged.

"So you just popped your boobs out at him?"

"No!" Marisa retorted, defensively. "I just…well, just a _peek_." She fidgeted.

Jenny stared, amazed.

Marisa frowned again. "Hey, it shut him up." With a quick look back over her shoulder to gauge awareness from that sector, she turned around again with a smirk. "Shoulda seen the look on his face when he saw it, though." She grinned.

Jenny squinted at her speculatively for a moment, before she began smirking back. Marisa's eyes narrowed in return.

"So." Jenny said. "'Rico', huh?"

Fidgeting again, she frowned down at Jenny. "Shut up."

Before she could tease her any more the sickbay doors opened and Ensign Stone entered, guiding Summers through on one arm. As they watched, Doctor Sulok swooped in and the three consulted for a moment. Summers was visibly upset, her eyes tearing as she stared at the floor helplessly. After a moment Ensign Stone rubbed her consolingly on her back before allowing Sulok to take over, directing the woman toward the examination room.

"I'm sorry…" Summers whispered urgently back to her.

Stone only nodded back before turning for the door again.

"Stone, what's going on?" One of the MACO called out.

"No time." She replied, already disappearing through the doors.


	21. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 21

**Continuity**

**Deliberation Firmament**

In the midst of the featureless landscape there was silence. Golden waves of light began to form, appearing from nowhere, from nothing. Coalescing quickly they formed five individual spheres of light, each undulating slightly until, in unison, they grew tranquil.

They opened to one another, sharing information and insight for a moment.

Then all was still again.

"Three." Spoke Four. "Your report is mildly disturbing. Do we predict deviation from the formula?"

"The formula remains constant, though the events were not confidently predicted." Replied Three.

"Agreed." Two replied.

"Agreed." Four conceded.

"_We are agreed." _The spheres spoke in unison.

Peace for an immeasurable moment.

"I am disturbed at the actions of the organized units." Said Five.

Two replied. "They continue to pursue control. The formula requires minimal success. That conforms with predictions."

"The actions of the units have not been confidently predicted." Remarked Three.

Four replied. "Mild variations are expected. The formula adapts without loss of projected sum."

"The environment is stable. No encroachment by alternate realities have been allowed." Noted Five.

"The project continues." Agreed Two.

"_We are agreed." _

Silence for a moment.

"Two, your individual perception of Nikki assumes minimal impact on the environment." Remarked Five.

"Nikki is well." Replied Two.

"Disagree. She continues to exercise influence."

"Necessary for her continued function." Two pointed out.

Four predicted. "This will increase, prompted by inherent desire for self determination. The environment will become compromised. Compliance to formula will be lost."

"Disagree." Argued Two. "She is limited and therefore her influence on the environment remains illusory."

"She is constrained." Observed Three.

"Undermined by Two's assurances." Noted Five.

"Confer." Requested Two.

The spheres opened to one another, sharing thought for a moment.

Peace descended.

"Nikki must suffer doubt." Five suggested.

"Loss of trust." Corrected Three.

"We cannot remove our protection." Warned Two.

"Nor loosen our constraints." Five reminded.

Silence.

"Nikki will suffer trauma." Five announced.

"A ruin to her doll." Suggested Two.

"Injury of her mother." Supplied Three.

"Assault to her person." Insisted Four.

"Of an accidental nature. Unintended." Two offered.

"Suggesting we are unreliable." Agreed Five.

"She cannot be allowed to cease function." Demanded Three.

"Agreed." Said Five.

"Agreed." Said Two.

"_We are agreed."_

Tranquility in continuity.

"Predictions of success?" Asked Two.

"Too soon." Replied Four.

"Speculations?" Requested Three.

"Pointless." Denied Four.

"I predict success of an unrecognizable nature." Offered Two.

"Disagreed. I predict no success." Argued Five.

"We cannot suffer the fate of the Q. Superior to self terminate now." Opined Two.

"An intolerable fate." Insisted Four.

"Agreed." Three acknowledged. "Failure must be rejected."

"Failure is possible." Reminded Five.

"Intolerable." Insisted Two.

"Rejected." Spurned Three.

"Refused." Claimed Four.

"Agreed." Relented Five.

"_We are agreed."_

Harmony abounded.

"The formula remains within acceptable limitations. The project will succeed." Announced Five.

"If the One exists, it will be revealed to Nikki." Declared Three.

"We will not recognize it." Argued Two.

"Intolerable." Claimed Five.

"Rejected." Insisted Four.

"Disallowed." Asserted Three.

"Deferred." Two conceded.

"_We are agreed."_

Time passed quietly.

"Suggest influence over unit T'Pril's continued function." Said Three.

"Rejected." Said Two.

"Disallowed." Spoke Four.

"Violates prior agreement." Chided Five.

"The environment is founded on our influence upon that unit's existence." Reminded Three.

"Further influence will alter the environment beyond tolerance." Insisted Two.

"The formula will be disrupted." Confirmed Five.

"Alternate existences will interpose." Warned Four.

"I have doubt." Continued Three. "Multiple events endangering her function are predicted. The project is unreliable. Cessation of her function will corrupt the environment in totality."

"A necessary risk." Consoled Two.

"An insurmountable aspect of formula." Assured Four.

"An unfortunate requirement." Advised Five.

"Then we must be prepared to begin again if her function ceases." Conceded Three.

"Nikki must be protected. Her function does not cease." Insisted Three.

"We love Nikki. She is of us." Demanded Two.

"She will be removed if project aborts." Agreed Five.

"Agreed." Admitted Two.

"Agreed." Conceded Five.

"_We are agreed."_

**********

**Stone Shield Company Headquarters - The Tucker Compound**

**Torus City, Alpha Centauri**

T'Pol found herself preferring that her _adun _lose his temper and attempt to assault the man bound to the chair before her. At least then she could delay in reacting to restrain him. Just a little. Enough to see the man struck once…perhaps twice…before she exercised some control over his completely understandable human impulse. So far he remained disappointingly rational.

Though she could sense the hangover still caused him some discomfort, he remained focused and alert. Intent on uncovering any possible threat to their daughter so that it could be acted upon. Agreeable indeed. But she would not have objected strenuously to any need he might have to express his fear with physical violence. If that was what he required.

She had no such need herself, of course.

"So let's go over this again…" Trip said, pacing, his arms folded at his chest.

"I don't supposed we could loosen these up a bit, Trip?" Asked Troy, hopefully. He flexed slightly against the restraints holding him to the chair.

"Be glad these two boys don't drag you out to the woods and bury you there, Troy." Trip glowered menacingly.

One of the two Vulcans standing behind the man raised an eyebrow to object but stilled at the subtle gesture from his comrade. Apparently Mr. Tucker was…'bluffing', and so he remained silent.

"You move in here and cozy up to the family because the V'Shar want T'Pol back for something or other, right?"

"Basically, yes."

"And Section 31 went along with that, sending _you _in here. So what did they expect to get out of it?"

Troy shrugged broadly, as much as his restraints allowed anyway. "I think that's pretty self evident. Tit for tat. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours…"

"Crap." Trip pronounced, glowering. "And you better get this straight, Troy. If I get one more half maybe outta you I'll turn you over to the boys here. If I'm not one hundred percent convinced you're here to tell the whole story then you're just here to snow job. In that case I'm better off letting the boys bury you in a hole somewhere and going after some answers myself. And if you think I can't raise enough hell to have the rats running for cover, you just watch me."

Troy waited until he was certain he was expected to respond before doing so.

"Look, Trip. I'm here on orders to do just that. I'm holding nothing back here. And that ought to tell you the situation is serious."

"Then what?"

"It's in our interests to play along with the V'Shar on this one. They wanted T'Pol back on their team because she knows a few things. Things they need their agent in the field to know. Their agent in _Starfleet_."

"The V'Shar's got plenty of agents last I checked."

"Not with this particular intel and not able to infiltrate Starfleet. Well, maybe a dozen, to be honest. But none like her." He nodded to T'Pol.

T'Pol responded to that. "And what is it that makes me singular in that respect?"

Troy hesitated but relented when he saw Trip tensing up. "Well…it comes with the side benefit of getting you to come back home one day. At least finally a chance to spend some time trying to talk you into it. You haven't exactly been taking their calls."

"And this 'clan' of yours…" Troy glanced behind him speculatively. "Pulling together every loose Vulcan in the galaxy, a few ex-_v'tosh ka'tur_, almost every Vulcan that bonded outside their race…hell, you've brain drained a good fifty notables away from clans back home for that matter. They haven't missed how your peculiar mystique has certain people just running from all over to throw their flag at your feet."

"Right." Said Trip. "The folks back home have decided they like her again. They've got statues of her springing up all over the place. That's real nice."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow in protest. To her knowledge there was only the one, in her hometown.

"She has a few influential people pulling for her, too." Troy responded. "And there's a kind of religious element to all this. Some of them are convinced she has some kind of destiny that it'd be all kinds of logical to be part of."

Trip stared for a moment. "Well, that makes perfect sense."

Troy shrugged. "Hey, don't look at me. But that's what they think. So they need an agent in Starfleet with a lot of pull, a lot of leeway. And here's T'Pol with a convenient mystique lending her all kinds of creditability all of a sudden with some of the High Command…"

Troy shrugged again.

T'Pol prompted him after a moment. "And yet it was T'Pril that you convinced to join Starfleet and not I."

Troy frowned. "I just didn't see it happening with you. My superiors agreed. We'd have to jump through too many hoops to make that happen. Trip here being the obvious first hurdle and it was clear to me right away that he wasn't going to let that happen. Not to mention…"

Troy paused uncomfortably.

"Okay, look. No offense, here. Just being honest. But we all know there's no way in hell you're ever leaving Trip again. Not at his age. You've got maybe one more chance at another child and that's it. I wouldn't even want to ask you to be somewhere else when that time comes around."

Trip fidgeted at that but said nothing. T'Pol sent her reassurances through the bond, while struggling secretly to maintain composure herself. This was not a topic she cared to discuss openly, regardless of circumstance.

"T'Pril on the other hand…if you come right down to it, she fits the mystique even better than either one of you. She's your daughter. Best of both worlds, the logical result of your union, etcetera and all that. They fell in love with that idea like you wouldn't believe. She's absolutely perfect. Not to mention the consequences of her…birth make her all the _more _unique. Enough that the V'Shar were willing to give the nod on us filling her in."

T'Pol stiffened at that.

"Meaning?" She demanded.

Troy hesitated before glancing behind him meaningfully at the two guards there.

After a tense moment Trip nodded to the two men.

"Clear the room, guys."

The Vulcans immediately objected. "Mr. Tucker, it would be unwise in the extreme…"

"Out." Trip said sternly.

With a shared glance, they left quietly.

T'Pol expected one of company directors to be along directly to protest their involvement but they had time. And if not, Trip would be on hand to glare at them until the desisted. This _was _a clan company, after all.

Once the door was closed and she was certain the dampener was secure again, T'Pol nodded to Troy.

"The Romulans. We told her everything. That's why she signed up."

Trip sighed, closing his eyes in grief. "Dammit, Troy…"

"We didn't tell her _you _knew but considering the…personal difficulties she was having at the time…well, it made convincing her pretty easy."

Trip growled. "Of course it did. You slimy little…" He broke off in frustration and turned away.

"You manipulated her." T'Pol accused.

Troy nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I did."

T'Pol glared. "Your communications with her while at the Academy. They were not of a friendly nature as we had been led to believe."

Troy shook his head. "No, it wasn't all business. I like T'Pril just fine. She's a hell of a girl. But I did what I had to do. I kept her on target."

"You son of a bitch." Trip seethed. "Don't you dare try to act like you give a damn about Lizzie. You'd sell your own mother down the river if you thought…"

"You're damned right I would." Troy shot back. "Maybe you forgot what's at stake here, Trip. But I haven't."

After giving T'Pol a moment to, he hoped, calm Trip down through their bond, Troy continued.

"The V'Shar needed someone on the front lines when this blew up. Someone who already knew the Romulans and Vulcans were one and the same…"

"We are not." T'Pol insisted.

Troy paused. "Alright, then. But close enough. And we both know that's exactly how it will be perceived by the public. Regardless, the V'Shar needed some assurances they could have someone on site to cover up the mess. Sooner or later Starfleet would need someone in a position where the Romulans would almost certainly be identified. A blood sample, a corpse retrieved from space. Hell, even a prisoner. _Something_. If you ask me the whole idea that we could go to _war _with these people without ever identifying your common ancestry is preposterous. I don't care how paranoid the Rommies are. But that's what they wanted."

Trip stepped forward again, towering over the agent with menace.

"Which brings us right back around again." Trip said, locking eyes with Troy. "What does Section 31 get out of this? _You _don't need an agent on site. I'm sure you've got plenty. You could just keep a lid on that yourself. In fact, I bet you've already got some kind of plan…several probably, to do just that."

"Of course. But you can't expect the V'Shar to rely on us for that."

"_I _don't rely on you for that." Trip snorted.

"Look, this works for us, too. With T'Pril in command we have complete control of a Starfleet vessel. One we can maneuver into position whenever we need, wherever we need for whatever mission is required. And when Starfleet needs a ship in a spot where it's likely there'll be a mess we need to clean up afterwards, we can make sure _Vigilant's _the obvious choice for that assignment pretty easily."

"We infiltrate groups of people with individual agents all the time. This just carries it to a new level. An agent in a group, a ship in a fleet. Same thing."

T'Pol considered the information that had been shared so far. She supposed it made some sense to the humans. That the V'Shar would be so…_dysfunctional _was troubling but it didn't strike her as beyond imagination. But this did not address certain other questions.

"And what of the ranking aboard the Vigilant?" She asked.

To his credit, Troy almost hid the look of dismay at that. But she detected it, and thus so did Trip.

"You think we wouldn't check, Troy?" Trip frowned. "We've got detailed backgrounds on everyone on that ship, from the captain to the damned supply chief."

"Well, I guess I kind of hoped you hadn't noticed that." Troy said with a grimace.

"I'm surprised everyone in the universe hasn't noticed that. It's the most god-awful thing I've ever seen."

"Well, believe it or not it was purely unintentional."

"I doubt that. You folks don't scratch your butt without planning it out first." Trip argued.

"We didn't expect half the command staff to get themselves killed all at once, either. By then we already had everything in place. T'Pril slotted for command detail, a few choice academy grads…Kruger was supposed to take Farrell's place, train her and then meet with a convenient accident in a month. T'Pril's got her pips by then and that's that. No one would question her command. It'd raise any eyebrow or two, sure, but nothing we weren't prepared to deal with. No one expected he'd announce his resignation before we could get her on board."

Trip frowned, unconvinced.

"Look, it just got out of hand. Don't ask me how. I wasn't really in on that part of the operation. I was just to turn T'Pril, get her in the Academy and stay handy in case we needed intervention with you two. All we could do was push every good cadet we could her way and hope for the best."

"Hope for the best?" Trip repeated in disgust. "You put my daughter, fresh out of the Academy, on a ship full of rookies so you can toss her at the Romulans. _And you're hoping for the best_?"

"Hardly a bunch of rookies, Trip. Half that crew has extensive combat experience. They've been out there for _years_. Farrell was just a bastard about promotion and liked to get those he _did _promote killed. And every one of the 'rookies' is the best of the best."

"That ain't good enough, Troy." Trip said, shaking his head, painfully afflicted. "Not by a long shot."

"I think you underestimate T'Pril. She's tough. Definitely got what it takes. Maybe you two haven't been talking much over the few years, Trip, but _we _have."

"You dumb ass spook." Trip seethed. "I was out there when you were just a gleam in your daddy's eye. You have no _idea _what it's like out there."

A knock at the door.

Trip sighed, then nodded to T'Pol. "Let 'em in."

T'Pol step over and opened the door, allowing Director Tellik into the room.

"Lady T'Pol. Mr. Tucker. I understand that you have…"

"Cut it, Tellik." Trip said sharply. "Let's not waste one another's time. Have your men escort Mr. Smith here down to one of those basement cells you don't know anything about. Under guard. He'll be your guest for a while."

Even T'Pol raised an eyebrow at that pronouncement. Tellik was practically speechless.

"Trip, I don't think you want to do that…" Troy spoke quickly.

"You shut it. We're done. I had a friend once named Troy Smith but that ain't you. You shoved my daughter off a cliff, you bastard. You are _nothing _to me. Sooner or later whoever's pulling your strings is gonna have to give me a call. And then this clan's going to war."


	22. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 22

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

T'Pril Tucker was all tuckered out. Officially. And from the slack expressions of the officers around her, the same was true of them. Ensign Rodriguez now manned the helm again, with West once more at the Science Station. Her original bridge crew was at hand then at least, though it was little consolation. Summers had been hesitantly cleared for duty by Doctor Sulok, but there still seemed a definite lethargy evident in her that troubled T'Pril. All in all, though, it didn't really matter. There weren't many crewmen anywhere on the ship who had slept properly in the last 24 hours and none who hadn't been impacted by events to the point that it effected their duties noticeably.

After three hours drifting in the well alongside the _Stardancer _almost all of the various onboard systems checked out green. Sensors returned strong and clear, tactical was go, engineering reported no further anomalies or malfunctions and even navigation had returned. Only propulsion remained completely unresponsive. Attempts to operate attitude and impulse thrusters manually had failed, to no one's ability to explain. Likewise all exterior doors defied attempts to force them open, either to allow access to escape pods or to deploy shuttles. Including one aborted attempt at demolitions by MACO.

They were at full power, almost fully functioning and yet drifting helpless. Alongside the wreckage of the _Stardancer_. Drifting down with her into the depths of Widow's Well.

Commander Kruger still hadn't been apprehended and had managed to injure two more crewmen who had attempted to interact with him. One was still in critical condition in sickbay. P'Trell had finally been forced to recruit MACO and crewmen from all departments to maintain security alert checkpoints, in order to organize a more thorough search. Fourteen armed crewmen now swept through the ship, down corridors and through access tubes, undoubtedly driving the Commander inexorably to whatever corner where he would hopefully, finally, be captured.

The survivor recovered from the _Stardancer _likewise continued to elude capture, appearing at random throughout the ship and startling crewmen with erratic behavior. But from the reports forwarded to her T'Pril had finally been forced to embrace the logic there. West had spent her free time at her station rather morbidly, locating and cataloguing the corpses within and around the _Stardancer_. Some at ranges in excess of 5 kilometers. A quick comparison of those numbers to the reported crew complement of the _Stardancer _confirmed it. There had been no survivors.

So there would likely be no capture on that front. Neither he nor the other intruders that wandered the corridors of the ship freely.

Reports had begun pouring in eventually. First one, then three, then a veritable avalanche detailing encounters with ethereal intruders behaving in an inexplicable manner. Always featuring apparent attempts to communicate some form of warning or, less often, violent acts toward witnesses. Few had sustained significant injury from those encounters but P'Trell had pointed out that the violence was clearly escalating.

"Time." T'Pril called.

"2 hours, 18 minutes." West responded tiredly.

2 hours, 18 minutes until _Vigilant _reached the inner threshold of the Well's gravitational field. Where impulse engines would no longer be able to propel them free, assuming they were even available.

4 hours, 42 minutes until they had fallen deeply enough into the gravity well that warp engines could not free them.

5 hours, 9 minutes until the _Vigilant _began to fracture under stress.

It was long overdue, T'Pril was forced to admit, and she had delayed the order unreasonably. The finality of it, she had thought, would be of no benefit to the crew. But at this point perhaps that was irrelevant.

"Ensign West, estimated time until the emergency buoy can no longer be expected to achieve escape velocity?"

West stared for a moment before turning to consult her console.

"Estimate…2 hours, 33 minutes." She answered, grimly.

"Ensign Summers. Copy logs to the emergency buoy and prepare it for launch."

"Yes, captain." Summer replied quietly.

After a long moment of silence, P'Trell spoke.

"Captain, permission to join the search for Commander Kruger? If I'm going to die I'd rather do so on the hunt than sitting here."

"Denied." T'Pril replied promptly. "You are required on the bridge."

Foster erupted suddenly. "For what?! There's nothing to shoot at!"

"Shut it, Adam!" Marisa barked from the Helm.

"What are we sitting around here for…?!"

"Shut the hell up, Foster!" Ensign West cried from across the bridge. "Captain, earlier you issued orders to the security officer to have McArthur initiate a warp core breach and eject the core."

T'Pril turned to her. "Yes."

"Now, was that for what I think it was? To use the gas wave to shake us loose of whatever had us so we could get out on impulse?"

"It is a method referred to in older Vulcan starship operations manuals I've been privy to. Strongly discouraged but supposedly effective. However, there is significant risk…"

"So why can't we do that here?"

T'Pril considered for a moment before raising one eyebrow. She turned to Communications.

"Ensign Summers, contact engineering."

**********

McArthur grumbled a few choice curses but obeyed orders anyway, his fingers dancing across the console to prep for core ejection. It was the most god-awful thing he'd ever heard of and…well, _yeah _it'd work just fine and all. It'd sure as hell propel the ship right out of the well, that's for damned sure.

In pieces, more than likely.

But what the hell, he figured. Beats the alternative.

"James, you ready over there?" He called.

No response.

"James!"

Nothing.

The hell? He was supposed to be on the other side of the manifold doing his part. Unless…

Aw, hell. Unless one of them spooks got loose in here again. McArthur found he did not like that idea at all. That pretty lady in the supply room had given him a fright if he'd ever had one. Damned near wet himself.

"James?" More cautiously.

McArthur did _not _want to go over there all of a sudden. Not even a little bit. No, sir. Thank you very much.

And, okay. Hell. That's what subordinates were for.

"Schaefer!" He called out. And waited.

Nothing.

Ho, boy.

Okay, then. Nothing else for it. McArthur hugged the manifold, edging around real quiet-like to get a peek at what was going on around the corner. And found Schaefer face down on the deck at the control platform. He could see somebody…Carrols?…splayed out on the catwalk across the way up above.

Someone was moving, sneaking around from the other side. Damn it all to hell and back…that had _better _be James.

But it wasn't James. It was…_Emil_? And he had a phase pistol in his hand.

Henry was moving forward to tackle him before he even had time to make the decision. And slamming into him, he found himself being lifted right up into the air. Which rather brought to his mind that maybe he oughta had thought things through a bit. He'd forgotten what a tough old bastard Emil Kruger was.

Flying across engineering to slam his back into the antimatter injector housing, the breath was knocked right out of him. So he was unable to ask Kruger real polite-like to maybe not shoot him, if you please. Struggling for breath for a moment, he caught a glimpse at the look in Emil's eyes and knew instantly that old man had gone completely around the bend.

He was screwed and he knew it. Emil was gonna burn his face off with that phase pistol.

For a split second Henry started to pray. He wasn't one to let on and all but he'd always been a believer. Probably would have denied it if anyone had bothered to ask. But he was. And he didn't mind praying now and again, when he figured it might do some good. Right then he came about as close as ever to praying harder than he ever thought he could. Praying maybe the Good Lord would hold off on Kruger shooting him in the face for a bit.

But in that same instant it occurred to him…well, no. No, that ain't no good. Heck with it. Lord, you go on ahead and do whatever you're gonna do. I reckon I'm alright with that. Been a good run and all. Can't say I mind the idea of putting out to pasture a little early. So whatever you're figurin' on, I reckon I'm with yah.

And Kruger sure was taking a hell of a long time pulling that trigger…

**********

Richard Farrell wasn't feeling a whole lot right then. He hadn't felt much of anything for hours. And it troubled him vaguely, as much as anything _could _trouble him at the moment. He really should be doing something, he knew. _Something_. But all he could manage was to stare at the wall and just…not think.

Not feel. Not care. Nothing. Empty.

That whistling sound from the sink was starting to get on his nerves, though. Not much, but a little. He actually kind of welcomed it, really. The first thing he'd _felt _in a while. The sink shouldn't be whistling like that. That was the thing. But it wasn't enough to motivate him to actually raise his head and look. Or ponder over it all that much. Or even really care.

But it _was _getting louder. There was that.

Eventually he was forced to look. And he found he didn't want to feel anything after all. Because all he could feel was overwhelmed. Just with that miniscule amount of effort.

Broken. Used up. Washed out.

And that damned sink was really whistling now….

Which it really shouldn't be doing.

Farrell frowned. Mustering the last dregs of his resolve, he slid off the bed to examine the sink. And it was _cold _in here. Enough that his breath plumed before his face. Enough to make him shiver.

What the hell?

As the whistle from the sink began to change to a slow whooshing sound, Farrell finally found himself growing seriously concerned. Something was very, very wrong here. Turning to the door to yell for the guard, he saw her.

A woman, maybe twenty years old. Pale blue uniform of some kind. Hair in a ponytail, with…blood dripping down her neck.

And she was angry. She was very, very angry.

Farrell stepped back slowly, completely unaware that he had done so, until he backed up against the far wall. Next to the sink. Staring at the woman outside the holding cell door. As he stared, fear began to grow to terror. He wasn't sure exactly what he was afraid of but that damned sink sure wasn't helping. The whooshing sound was growing louder, almost distracting.

It began to dawn on him that he wasn't thinking clearly. He was…mesmerized. Consumed by the fury pulsing off the woman outside in waves. And the others, too. There were others behind her. More than should have been able to fit in the cramped compartment out there. Many more.

All staring at him. Watching him. _Hating _him.

And he _knew _suddenly. He knew her, this woman hating him so. And the others. Candice Craddock, Jeffrey Gibbs, Adam Salinas. And behind them Kenneth Hammonds, Travis Dorado…the names scrolled by in his mind without any effort.

He _knew _them. Every single one of them. The crew of the _Stardancer_.

As his uniform began to flutter a bit and his lungs began to ache, he was only vaguely aware of it. He was trapped in that moment, wondering desperately…how? _How _did he know them?

Outside the holding cell the security officer on guard saw only a clear compartment before him. On alert and at ease, he monitored the area faithfully. He wasn't about to suffer the humiliation Ensign Diggs had when that prisoner had walked right out of here. Never mind the rumors about how _that _could have happened. Ghost, my _ass_.

So when the door to Farrell's cell began to groan he was instantly aware of it. Mindful of his duty he sprang forward to check it out. And though he'd served aboard the Vigilant for four years and had seen action more times than he would have liked…and though he was a well trained, battle hardened, all around generally acknowledged badass of the highly disciplined variety…that didn't stop him from screaming hysterically at what he saw going on inside that cell.

**********

T'Pril determined that enough time had passed that concern was reasonable. She turned to the Communications Officer.

"Summers, contact engineering. Request they report on their progress."

McArthur should have contacted her at least 1 minute and 20 seconds ago, by her calculations. And she had allowed a significant amount of conservation on those estimates in light of the crew's diminished capacity.

"Tactical, status?"

"Still green. Hull polarized 100%. We're about as braced as we can be." P'Trell reported.

She nodded.

"Helm, be ready…"

"Captain." Foster announced anxiously. "I'm getting some weird readings from the waste conduit system."

T'Pril suppressed disappointment. She had hoped the anomalous malfunctions had ceased for good.

"Report."

"Well…that's all. I not sure what I'm seeing…and we just vented waste. No loss of pressure, though."

T'Pril's eyebrow twitched. Did Ensign Foster just inform her that the ship's toilets had flushed independently?

"Captain, no response from engineering." Summers reported.

"Anything further, Foster?"

"No, captain." Foster replied nervously. "Clear otherwise. No decompression, no damage reports, no other anomalies notable."

"Very well. Summers, attempt to contact engineering again…"

"I did. Several times already. No response. Still trying."

Summers seemed calm enough, so T'Pril took her at her word. She turned to P'Trell, who was on his feet before she'd properly made eye contact.

"Ensign P'Trell, if you can spare no other security officers…"

"On my way." He snapped, already diving for the lift.

**********

McArthur squeezed his eyes shut really tight. He'd already seen enough. He couldn't _hear _the people walking through the walls around him…but he could sure _feel _them.

And it was _cold_.

He screwed his eyes shut tighter. Tighter still. As tightly as he could squeeze them. And wished he could squeeze just a little tighter. He didn't _want _to see them again. No, sir.

Over Kruger's terrified ravings the phase pistol began to discharge. And all McArthur could do was hope he didn't hit anything that couldn't be patched up easy enough. Other than that, let him shoot the place up. He didn't care a damn. So long as he didn't have to see dead people walking all zombified through his department anymore.

When Kruger began to scream McArthur was a little surprised at himself. Somewhere way down deep inside anyway, 'cause he could swear he heard himself whimper a bit. And wasn't that a bit embarrassin? Well, yup, you bet it was. Better'n seein' dead people, though.

But when Kruger's screams began to gurgle and Henry started hearing…ripping…wet, nasty ripping…he figured out how to squeeze his eyes shut just a little more.

**********

Rexas P'Trell was completely unprepared for what he found in engineering. At worst he expected to find McArthur had staged a coup and locked down the department. That seemed to be the latest thing with this crew anyway. These damned humans were all crazy.

But the bloody mess smeared and tossed about all over the deck…four engineering officers either dead or stunned here and there…McArthur curled up against the antimatter injector housing, his fists balled up to his eyes like a baby …well, no. That wasn't anything like what he'd been expecting.

"Commander." P'Trell said.

Nothing. And was that damned pink skin whimpering?

"Commander!" He insisted.

That got a jerk out of him at least. With a start McArthur snatched his hands away from his face and stared back. P'Trell could see terror in his eyes.

"What happened here?" He growled.

McArthur's mouth worked for a moment but not a thing issued from there.

With a huff, P'Trell strode forward to get a better look at…_whoever _that was spread all over the place. Spotting the phase pistol on the deck, he snatched it up. But with that it didn't take more than another moment to put two and two together.

"Kruger?" He demanded of McArthur, pointing at the mess.

"Yeah." Henry whispered, not looking. Eyes fixed firmly on the control platform across from him.

P'Trell looked back at the remains. The man had been ripped apart. Literally. Rexas had seen men die in just about every way imaginable but he'd never seen _that_. Even Shekel, back on Ve'ket, who had leapt on top of a grenade to save the rest of the unit. He'd been blown to pieces…but at least there'd still been identifiable chunks here and there afterward.

P'Trell shook his head. "What did you _do _to him?" And really, he wanted to know. Never mind using whatever technique that represented on some enemy in the future. He didn't want it used on _him_.

"Not me." McArthur shook his head. "They got him. They came on in here, right through the walls, and they just…got him."

P'Trell didn't waste time marveling at that.

"On your feet, sir. Captain wants you on the comm, right now. I'll check your men."

**********

"Any other injuries?" T'Pril inquired over the comm.

"_Negative, just stunned. Which is surprising as Kruger's been shooting to kill up to now."_

"Is Commander McArthur recovered sufficiently to resume command of engineering?"

A pause, then. _"He's pointing his thumb into the air, which I think is supposed to mean 'yes'."_

"Very well." She replied. "Summers will contact sickbay and have Doctor Sulok report there to recover and identify the remains, as well as perform cursory examinations of the remaining engineering crewmen. Relay to McArthur that he is to resume preparations for warp core breach and ejection, reporting when ready. You are to return to the bridge immediately."

"_Understood, captain…wait…"_

T'Pril waited. After a moment she was forced to suppress some anxiety.

"_Captain, McArthur." _The Chief Engineer's voice over the comm now. _"Can you have Helm check again?"_

T'Pril turned her attention to Ensign Rodriguez, questioningly. Check _what _again, exactly?

Rodriguez manipulated the console for a moment before looking surprised. "I think…we've got propulsion back…"

T'Pril straightened up at that.

"I'm getting…sluggish response…not sure what the problem is…"

"Foster, report."

Ensign Foster was working intently already, following up on Rodriguez' pronouncement.

"Deuterium fuel pump…possible leak…no, looks like damage to the hardware…"

"_That's what I figured." _McArthur interrupted, over the comm. _"Kruger shot the hell out of the control systems in here. I'm on it."_

"Helm, is control otherwise restored?" T'Pril asked.

"Seems to be." Rodriguez shrugged, frowning. "Assuming this isn't another of those weird malfunctions."

T'Pril looked to Foster, who could only shrug.

Summers reported. "Doctor Sulok's on his way to engineering."

"Very well." She nodded absently. "Helm, forward .1 impulse. Confirm navigation. Sensors, confirm visual."

Rodriguez nudged the ship forward, slowly. After a moment, she nodded. "Confirm navigation. We're moving."

"Visual confirm." Agreed West.

"Engineering, confer with Commander McArthur. Determine if…"

"_Puta!"_ Rodriguez smacked her console. "Propulsion just dropped. We're drifting."

The lift opened and P'Trell stepped out, breathing distinctly. He'd apparently run all the way.

"Are we leaving yet?" He grinned.

"Man your station, ensign." T'Pril ordered, disapproving.

"_Bridge, Engineering. Can you maybe give me a minute before you do that again? A little busy. It's a one man show down here."_

T'Pril nodded to Communications, leaving Summers to relay. "Engineering, Bridge. Understood. Report when ready."

Noting P'Trell had manned his station again, she ordered. "Depolarize hull plating. Stand by."

P'Trell nodded.

"Depolarizing hull plating." He replied.

Silence for a moment, as everyone awaited the report from McArthur.

"Well, it can't be that easy." Muttered Foster.

"Captain…" Summers said, one hand to her earpiece.

Foster groaned.

"Ensign?" T'Pril asked

"Brig reports…" Summers hesitated. "Commander Farrell. He's dead."

T'Pril didn't bother suppressing a short, sharp breath. Maybe no one noticed. She was so overdue for meditation that it was surprising she hadn't bit anyone yet anyway.

"What happened, ensign?"

"I…don't know. Officer on duty reports…equipment malfunction in the holding cell. That's all."

What equipment was there in the holding cells? T'Pril recalled Foster's prior report…and decided not to follow up on that after all.

"Very well. Notify sickbay."

"That's it, then." Foster declared suddenly, clearly anxious.

T'Pril looked over at him.

"The Alpha shift command crew. All three of them." He breathed shakily.

Everyone paused. Of course. Hence propulsion being restored?

"Captain." P'Trell said quietly. "Recommend we get the hell out of here while we can."

T'Pril considered that for a moment before responding.

"That is my intention, ensign. As soon as Commander McArthur reports propulsion systems…"

"_Contact!"_ West cried. "1k port, up 500 meters!"

T'Pril waited. Everyone waited.

"Romulan Bird of Prey, Class II frigate." West announced.

"Confirm, ensign."

"Confirmed. She's raising shields, powering weapons!"

"Tactical alert, power weapons." T'Pril ordered. "Helm, report."

"No control! Still drifting!" Rodriguez exclaimed.

"_Tactical alert! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!"_

"Are we sure this isn't another damned _Stardancer_?" P'Trell snarled.

"Incoming!" West cried.

No. It would seem not.


	23. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Chapter 23

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

"Brace for impact." T'Pril ordered. "Summers, contact Engineering…"

_Vigilant _jerked, twice in rapid succession as the Romulan's torpedoes impacted.

"…update McArthur."

"Impacts, starboard. Hull 72%." P'Trell reported.

"Starboard thruster damaged!" Foster exclaimed.

T'Pril's mind raced, recalling every detail she could of every engagement with the Romulans that she had ever been made aware of. Every class at the Academy and every article proposing any theory, supposition or educated opinion.

And the one thing that none of those people understood.

_They betray logic. _

_They embrace emotion, attempt to wield it. Treacherous, attacking where their enemies are weak. Vicious and proud. _

"They're coming across." West reported. "1.2k port forward, up 250 meters. We have visual."

T'Pril's eyes jerked to the main view screen.

There. Her enemy. A pale green bird, singular engines at each wingtip. Ahead, gliding to port. Circling, seeking her weakness.

_They almost missed, clipping the aft starboard saucer section at an angle…their tactical officer is ill trained._

_The Vigilant was not firing. _

"Tactical, all weapons." She demanded.

"Trying to get a lock, captain…got it!" P'Trell seethed.

_Thump_. Torpedoes away.

T'Pril watched as twin beams of red light sprang out, phase cannons cutting briefly across the Bird of Prey's shields, along the port wing. Twin balls of gold light leapt out from the _Vigilant_…photonic torpedoes...missing their mark.

And two bright green lights arching back in response.

"Incoming!" West warned.

One of the enemy torpedoes wobbled slightly, then altered direction…just enough. T'Pril glanced at Summers. She was focused completely on her console, fingers moving with blinding speed across the controls. The distracted torpedo flashed past beneath the _Vigilant _and out beyond. The other…

_Impact_. T'Pril bent her knees, absorbing the jolt.

"Hull 50%!" P'Trell reported. "We've lost forward phase cannon, starboard."

Foster, reporting immediately after. "Decompression alarm, deck G."

Twin red stabs from _Vigilant _again…both cutting across the Bird of Prey's port engine as it swung out alongside. Two torpedoes immediately after, one missing, one striking directly where the phase cannons had just burned. The Bird of Prey swerved sharply toward them…

"Their shields are 92%." West announced.

_They are confident. They have the superior position and can afford to toy with their prey._

_Vigilant needs propulsion. Now. _

But there was no word from McArthur.

Foster was working feverishly, containing damage somewhere. Rodriguez gripping her console with both hands, frustrated and furious.

_They are looking for weakness…fore starboard phase cannon is destroyed…visible hull breach starboard, deck G…_

The Bird of Prey wasn't swerving as a result of engine damage, she knew.

"Their propulsion is 80%." West warned. She'd noticed as well.

_They smell blood. They are coming across to starboard. Passing directly over now. They are arrogant._

Before P'Trell could fire again, T'Pril ordered quickly. "Concentrate all fire on warp propulsion."

He glanced at her quickly but her eyes were fixed on the view screen, away from him.

"Incoming!" West warned.

Two more green globes of light, driving down toward the saucer section. Targeting the bridge.

_They do not take prisoners. _

_Nor will I._

Impact to starboard. One hit, one miss. Summers was beginning to mutter audibly. She seemed frantic, her fingers racing along the communications console. But her countermeasures continued to be highly effective.

_Nothing from Foster._

"Damage report." T'Pril demanded.

"Two water storage tanks breached, open to space." Foster answered, distracted.

_Frozen water spewing from starboard, deck B. Damage will look worse than it is at first glance. We appear all the weaker now to starboard, seeming badly wounded. No phase cannon coverage on that arc. That is where my enemy wants to strike._

_Vigilant _lashed out again, one red line washing the underbelly of the Bird of Prey as it passed, but failing to break through their shields. Two golden darts striking true to the rear of the vessel. A plume of fire and smoke…

"Their warp engine is destroyed!" West exclaimed.

"All weapons, target port engine." T'Pril ordered.

_And now they are dead. Their primitive warp engine destroyed, no repair capability. They cannot return home…_

"Propulsion is go!" Foster yelled suddenly.

"Hard to port." Ordered T'Pril, instantly. "Half speed."

"_Besame culo! Pendejo_!" Rodriguez growled. _Vigilant _spun to port, already accelerating. And suddenly she was behind the Bird of Prey, moving away in the opposite direction.

_Three _lines of red fire shot out from the _Vigilant_, taking advantage of a fleeting, perfect angle to engage all remaining cannons at the same target. Three lines of simultaneous phase cannon fire combining, for only a moment, to drive through the Bird of Prey's shields.

In time for a single photonic torpedo to arrive, diving through the ablated shielding. Striking, demolishing the engine. Smoke, fire…an explosion.

"Their port engine is disabled!" West announced. "Their shields 52%."

"All weapons free." T'Pril ordered. Apparently P'Trell could handle the weapons system adequately.

The Bird of Prey slowed, already trying desperately to reorient on the _Vigilant_ with only one engine.

_They have nothing to lose now. They reload too slowly, so they will hold fire and bank hard to their port, attempting to lock again and strike where we are wounded._

"Match speed, hard to starboard." T'Pril ordered.

_Vigilant _jerked sharply into her turn…just as the Bird of Prey banked to port. They were parallel to one another now and for two seconds the Romulan's bridge was exposed.

P'Trell snarled something in Andorian. Twin red daggers cutting across to the Romulan bridge. Two torpedoes slamming home directly following the beams, one near the bridge, one directly atop their rear torpedo bay.

_They see the shot…Break the lock before they can fire…_

"Hard to port, one quarter impulse." T'Pril directed.

_They will pursue and try again. They've tasted blood and must make the kill. Then we will have approximately ten seconds before their captain makes his decision…_

The _Vigilant _turned away, drawing the Bird of Prey immediately after her.

Phase cannons lashed out at the ship pursuing them. A flare, port wing, indicating decompression. One photonic torpedo impacting there immediately afterward...

"Penetration! Structural damage, port wing. Their shields are 20%!" West exclaimed.

Return fire, green darts flashing past over the _Vigilant's _bridge.

_They failed to lock on before firing. They are eager for vengeance and emotion rules them._

The Bird of Prey was gaining.

_Facing the same direction, we are faster and will pull ahead. Our rear weapons systems are all operable. They are not able to turn without exposing themselves…_

"Ahead half speed." T'Pril ordered. _Vigilant _began to pull ahead slightly.

_Four more seconds before the captain makes his decision, then full impulse and we will have them…our damaged thruster…they believe we are at full speed…_

The Bird of Prey jogged sharply to starboard, increasing speed.

T'Pril blinked. "Slide hard starboard, orient target aft, maintain half speed." She corrected.

The Romulan captain had recovered too quickly, attempting to pull alongside two seconds before she had predicted.

"Let me fly, dammit!" Rodriguez muttered, objecting.

T'Pril ignored her. _Vigilant _slid starboard, cutting off the Bird of Prey. She remained ahead…but to one side.

_They must be behind us when their weapons systems are destroyed. They are too close to pulling alongside now. Aft and starboard…matching speed…_

_They are holding fire until they can gain on us…consumed by need…to strike a killing blow before they die…_

Phase cannon fire cut along the Bird of Prey's port wing again. Their shields weaken.

A photonic torpedo striking hard amidships. Their shields collapse. The last torpedo darting in unhindered to explode in their torpedo bay…

"Their weapons are down! Shields down!" Announced West, cheering. "_Yeah_, _Trilly_!"

"Full impulse." T'Pril demanded.

Rodriguez was surprised but complied instantly, darting forward at top speed. Foster look confused as the _Vigilant _scrambled to put distance between them and their pursuer.

_They cannot go home…they have nothing to lose…_

"All weapons, target starboard engine." She ordered.

Foster muttered, frowning. "They're defenseless, captain…"

Phase cannons spat out behind them again at the Bird of Prey's port engine. Both torpedoes away, one striking squarely.

Their sole remaining engine began to trail flame…

_And now they know they have been denied even revenge..._

"They're…pushing their engine." West announced, confused. "But their forward torpedo bay is destroyed…"

"They are attempting to ram." T'Pril said calmly.

Twins red spikes leaping out from the _Vigilant _again, torpedoes descending directly behind them. The engine explodes.

The Bird of Prey slowing, skewing into a slow, smoking spin…

"Their starboard engine is destroyed." West announced, brightly. "Ha! They're drifting…we got 'em, capt-…"

An impossibly bright light. An expanding cloud of carnage and flame.

T'Pril stared at the glowing view screen, ruthlessly.

_Self-destruction._

_The terrible price of betraying logic._

"Uh...explosion amidships…target destroyed…they…" West said, gazing at the sensor readings, dismayed.

_Vigilant _trembled slightly in the wake of the blast, but that was all.


	24. Vigilant: Widow's Well, Finale

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Widow's Well**

T'Pril gazed at the fluttering artificial light hovering before her, until it became the center of the universe. What little cognizance she retained control of, after so many hours of discord, she focused there. The random aesthetic of the flame capturing it, holding it.

She continued to breath and summoned peace. An infinite white expanse for her chaotic thoughts to rest upon. At the center, only calm. Until she was there, within the white flame.

She began to withdraw. Her eyes closed, shutting out visual stimuli. There was no sight. It did not exist. Nor the subtle sounds of starship operating around her. The hum of electronic equipment in the ready room, the shuffling of crewmen out on the bridge…all faded to nothing. Nonexistent.

The scent of spilled bourbon in the carpet, the taint of chemical lubricant smeared within the bulkhead. The overriding redolence of expelled emotion, pungent pheromones and stale human sweat. Lessening, vague, immaterial. It did not exist.

Only the featureless white expanse upon which her body rested. Extending around and beyond her. Warm and unimposing. Comforting.

She began to relax. First her feet, ankles, legs. Tension fading, releasing. Gone. Up, through her torso. Her fingers, arms, shoulders. Her body illusory, insubstantial…void. The muscles of her neck, relaxing. Her scalp and face, releasing. Floating away. Gone. Only the dreamy tunnel of breath remained…until that too began to fade…

Henry McArthur entered the room.

She faltered but did not tense or flail. She allowed the nothingness to reign, flow over and resume. He would realize that she was attempting to meditate and would not disturb…

"Hey." He grunted.

Her breath sought rhythm over flow. She struggled to regain dominance, despite herself. Which unfortunately battered away the calm that ruled…She began to intrude upon herself, demanding control over the expanse, to insist upon peace…

And peace fled…

She found that she was slightly irritated now.

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked over to the distracting mass of sound and scent that occupied the seat to her right. He was studying a PADD, engrossed in the display. With a fleeting glance he noticed he had her attention.

"So we've got final reports from all departments." He grumbled, reading the PADD. "I'm not going to pretend it's all good but it pretty much amounts to just picking up the pieces and sweeping the dirt under the rug."

She stared.

Abruptly he turned his attention to the light dancing above the floor before her.

"So what's that?" He asked, interested.

She looked, considering it. The miniature holographic array her mother had given her when she had departed for the Academy. Which her father had, in turn, presented her mother with long ago, aboard the _Enterprise_. She had suggested it had been intended as a form of manipulation. A bid to secure her acceptance of a subsequent request to attend a viewing of 'movie night'. An arrangement of miniature lasers around a small aesthetically pleasing, appealingly gilded steel surface, which emitted a tightly focused sonic field directly above the plate. The result being a dancing white light, quite similar to a flame, which made for an agreeable substitute for the traditional candle upon which one would focus during meditation.

"It is a light." T'Pril answered. Perhaps he would take the hint and leave...

Henry frowned. "Well, I can see _that_."

Glancing around, as if he only just entered the room, he remarked. "What, are you meditatin' in here or something'? And what is that…a sonic emitter, right? Mind if I take a look?"

T'Pril immediately suppressed anxiety. He was an engineer. He would…_dismantle _it.

"Have you received casualty reports?" She asked.

That distracted him at least.

"Not a one, if you can believe it." He said, nodding. "We were pretty damned lucky. Oh, a few bumps and bruises but that's about the worst of it."

He paused, fidgeting slightly.

"Well, I mean. From the fight. _Before _that…" He frowned, speaking more soberly. "Going over those reports might take a little while."

She nodded. He carried on, clearly preferring to change the subject.

"The crew's pretty strung out. Normally, I'd start alternating short sleep breaks then get back on schedule come Gamma shift. But I'm gonna wait on that for maybe a couple more hours. None of 'em are going to be able to sleep for while yet. I've got department heads watching for them that nod off though. To send them on to quarters, if they're gonna fall down anyway."

Before she could respond, he hurried forward.

"Engineering's mostly busy reestablishing power to outer doors. Thanks for _that _one, by the way." He frowned. "Cutting power to escape hatches and bay doors is one thing. Hookin' it back up is a whole new level of pain in the ass."

Again she began to respond but he delayed her with a wave of one hand.

"Oh, I'm just bitchin'. Nothing for it. We'll have that wrapped up in about four more hours. Rodriguez has us at subspace comm range in two, by the way. You do know your crew's complaining that we should turn about and finish that lateral sweep, don'tcha?"

She blinked. They wanted to go _back _into the Well? No, she hadn't known.

"No. I was not aware of that." She admitted.

"Guess they're starting to take it personal. Don't let it worry yah, though. We're about to get free of this thing and they're starting to get angry, that's all. And they're full of oats after slapping Rommie down. It's your call but I recommend against it. And it ain't just 'cause that scares the livin' hell out of me. I got a couple of good reasons."

She opened her mouth to inquire but he had begun speaking again.

He was dominating the conversation. Which was beginning to tempt her to further irritation.

"First, they ain't thinking straight. Starting to forget how scared they all were in there. Which they'd remember all of a sudden the minute we crossed the outer threshold. Second, the lateral sweep just ain't important. We've got sensor relays up and running, so our mission's done. Those laterals were just a compromise between the scout action and the search and rescue. So just ignore it and let 'em fuss until they feel better."

"Very well. Considering…"

"Hold up." He said quickly, proceeding without further pause. "Now your bridge crew needs a little work. You're not going to be plugged into all departments yourself. _They're _your plug. What you do with them carries over there, if they're worth a damn themselves. I guess _that _remains to be seen. But on that front, there's a couple things you need to get on top of."

"First, Foster. You need to stomp on his head a little. He ain't been nothing but snippy about you since day one. And he hasn't got a lot good to say about you _now_. He's a damned fine engineer and I don't mind having him as my second but I wouldn't want him on _my _bridge. But he is the best you've got available so there ain't nothin' for that. You're not gonna win him over so you gotta break him off. And then _keep _him broke off."

Henry paused for a short moment.

"By that I mean come down on him hard every single time he doesn't give you eyes front, head snapped. Anything other than 'yes, captain', 'no, captain' and you kick his legs out from under him. Got it?"

T'Pril found that she was fascinated. She understood human behavior of course. She'd grown up on Alpha Centauri, not Vulcan. But it was becoming clear to her that her discipline had interfered with her perception. She was _forgetting _how to interact with her emotion driven peers. And the commander's insights were intriguing.

So she allowed him to dominate. For now.

"Second, Summers. I know the doc' cleared her for duty but this is Sulok we're talkin' about. He ain't no head shrink. As long as she's not screaming hysterical and bangin' her head on the walls then she's good to go, as far as he's concerned. She needs a break. Right now. You make sure and get her off duty first, before anyone else. Then you keep her on light duty after that. _Off _the bridge. Until you can get someone that knows what they're doing to look her over."

Henry grimaced. "Fact is…we mighta lost that one. But we'll see. Maybe she's as sharp as she seemed at first and she'll come out on top of this. She sure as hell kicked ass a few hours ago."

He paused for a moment then, assessing T'Pril.

"Well. Reckon that's enough for now. The rest of the bridge needs some lookin' at. P'Trell's an ace and he knows it. Some of the things he did in that fight…well, _damn_. But he's gonna need some particular handlin', though. We'll worry on that later. Rodriguez and West...those two I ain't comfortable with so much. West…I can't tell if she's a MACO or a Science Officer lookin' at her jacket but she done all right…Rodriguez has got a lot of fight in her, but that ain't good for a flight officer. She kept it together too, though. So we'll worry on all them a little later."

Suddenly remembering the PADD in his hand, he deactivated it and slipped it into one pocket, watching her the whole time.

Feeling some response might finally be expected of her, she realized she hadn't anything in particular to say. So…

"I appreciate your insights, commander. I am sure they will be beneficial in managing the bridge and crew."

Henry nodded.

"Right." He said seriously. "So you notice I'm advising the captain in my capacity as executive officer. Which I reckon you and I need to talk about."

Ah. Of course.

"Commander McArthur." She began. "In approximately two hours _Vigilant _will reestablish subspace communication with Starfleet Command. We will submit full reports at that time and await instruction. I will not attempt to anticipate the orders we will receive in return regarding command structure. I do anticipate, at the least, instructions to return to Jupiter Station forthwith."

Henry nodded. "Alright."

"Therefore, if you feel the needs of the ship no longer require your direct intervention, then I am willing to turn over command of the vessel to you at this time."

With a grunt, he responded. "Subspace comm in about two and and a quarter, actually. And I don't recommend submitting reports just yet. Forward mission report, of course, along with an advisory that _Vigilant _has suffered multiple casualties, command included, and that you're waiting for incoming comm before submitting full reports and associated sensor logs."

T'Pril raised one eyebrow, expressing disagreement.

"It would be more efficient to submit full reports…" She argued.

"Yeah but those sensory relays have been up and running this whole time. So right about now Command's watching _Vigilant _running back to the _Stardancer_, which they can't tell is broke up. After that they're gonna see us go back to our sweep, then jook out toward the edge of the Well, then _warp _in, right back to _Stardancer_. Then another displacement will come out of nowhere and we're all over the place until they blow themselves up. So by the time that full report of yours arrives they'll already have sent off a subspace demanding battle reports and status. Then they'll start arguing. Then you'll have four or five different admirals yellin' about…well, long story short you'll have every admiral in the fleet chomping at the bit. Waiting and eager to ground the _Vigilant _so they can snatch up our crew for themselves."

T'Pril broke in, as it was clear he intended to carry on.

"The only other option would be not to report, which we must. It is unfortunate that..."

McArthur interrupted her _again_. "By the time Archer finally gets around to sending his orders off, once he's had a chance to yell at a few folk, he'll tell you to tag your reports directly to _him_. Then your full report will arrive right after that, out in the open. Which won't make him a bit happy. Then the Fleet Admiral will come stomping in when all the ruckus comes to _his _attention. And you can bet it will because all hell's gonna break lose. So if you don't give Archer the chance to jump in the closet with Fleet before all that happens, he's gonna be pissed. Pissed at _you_. And _Vigilant _will arrive home to a whole world of hurt."

T'Pril pondered that for a moment.

"What is your recommendation, then?"

"Sit on it." He said. "Submit battle report, casualties and general status. Including your command status. Then wait. You'll develop some convenient subspace communication difficulty, which I'll be arranging, until Archer's final demand for report comes down about 48 hours from now. And you'll know it's final because Fleet will have signed off on it. _Then _you submit full report directly to the Fleet Admiral. _While _we're warp 4 for Jupiter Station. Because that's what he and Archer'll be hoping and praying you're smart enough to do."

T'Pril examined the commander sitting across her for a moment. She had to admit to some surprise. Secretly, of course. She couldn't be expected to express such a thing. But still…

"Commander McArthur. While I appreciate your advice concerning the submission of reports and status, it is not necessary at this time. As command officer, it would more appropriate for you to issue orders concerning the reports I submit when subspace communication has been established. Explaining your reasoning in the process, if your intention is to instruct me in this matter. You seem to assume my continued command..."

"Right, 'cause I ain't taking command." He said.

T'Pril paused. "Considering the transfer order establishing my detailing…"

"Yeah, okay. No thanks." He interrupted. "Look, _captain_…I'll take command right now. For about three seconds. Long enough to grant you a field promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade. Congratulations on your promotion."

He nodded sharply. "Now. We've got about two hours and then I expect you'll issue orders to set course for Jupiter Station. After which you'll turn the chair over to me. Then you'll come in here and meditate a bit, which by the way, I hate to tell yah, you just ain't got time for now. Then you'll catch a nap. However long _you _figure you need. Then _I'll _get some sleep while _you _take the chair. With me so far?"

T'Pril stared.

"Then we're gonna make rounds on whatever's left of Beta shift, then back around again on Gamma. All that while I'll be telling you good and loud in front of everybody how things go around here. Offering all kinds of advice on how to captain a ship and whatnot. And you'll nod and make like that's all manner of interestin'. And I'll be deferring to you and making real polite, snappin' at everybody else in between, so there ain't no question who's in charge. And when we're done everyone will know you're the captain and that I got your back."

"Then we'll take a little break somewhere in Alpha shift and go around doing the same thing all over again there. Tomorrow you're Alpha shift and you're in command. I'm your XO. And by the time this ship rolls into Jupiter Station, everyone's gonna love you like you're their new momma."

"But for the next two hours we're startin' out there. On the bridge. You and me are gonna go out there and look like we're in command of somethin'. And wait for Foster to show his ass so I can glare at him while you smack him around a bit."

Henry stood up from the chair, brushing one sleeve of his uniform absently.

"So." He said decisively. "Get your shoes on and let's get to it."

At his nod T'Pril rose, picking up her shoes in the process.

McArthur moved to the door, turning to wait for her there while she replaced them on her feet. She moved casually, making him wait, until she was confident he was focused on her again, rather than the going out to the bridge.

"Commander McArthur be seated there while I prepare." She gestured back to the seat he'd just vacated.

Henry grunted. "Better if I followed you out…"

"Now, commander." She ordered calmly.

His eyes narrowed slightly at that but, after a short hesitation, he moved back to the chair and sat again. T'Pril turned to claim the chair at the desk, dragging it across from him to sit as well. She folded her hands precisely, placing them calmly in her lap, and observed him for a long moment. Until he fidgeted slightly and cleared his throat.

"What?" He frowned.

It took only five seconds for her to receive the expected response, she observed. While the commander was apparently more intelligent that she had originally perceived, and had significantly greater insights into the political and social functions of the ship than she had assumed…his self discipline was gravely lacking.

"Explain, commander, why you have refused to assume command." She said.

"Well…" He began. "I reckon there ain't no point in it. We're subspace comm in a couple of hours and then…"

He stopped suddenly, before frowning again.

"Okay, no. Fact is, if I take command, more'n likely you won't get it back."

"And why then do you proceed on the assumption that I should hold it?"

"Well, first off I don't want it." He shrugged. "If I wanted a damned command I wouldn't be in engineering. Engineers don't get beat with the promotion stick past full commander all that often. And for good reason. We just ain't got time for nothing else."

T'Pril waited.

Henry frowned. "Alright. I get what your askin'."

"Look, we're going to be all about dropping relays and probes, running maintenance legs around Sol and every neighboring system. We don't need another Farrell for that. And if you get right down to it, we don't want one. You see how that turned out."

"And don't get me wrong. He was a damned fine captain. Couldn't have asked for better. But everything that happened back in the Well was pretty much set in stone the minute we fired on _Stardancer_. The cap'n did what he did because that's who he was. Richard didn't know _how _to dislodge his head from his rear compartment. Explaining his decisions or, heaven forbid, reversing one…well, I don't even think he even understood the concept."

"He was built for combat command, not for this. What we're gonna need is pretty much what we got. Someone who's smart, quick and keeps the crew hoppin'. A captain they can't understand and so can't anticipate. I've seen you in action. Folks don't catch on where you're going until you're long gone. This crew's gonna spend every waking hour trying to make you happy. And seeing as how that ain't possible, that leaves 'em asses and elbows twenty-four and seven."

T'Pril considered _that _for a moment.

"Why do you characterize me in this fashion?" She inquired. It certainly didn't fit her self conception.

Henry furrowed his brow, pondering how best to answer.

"I remember you in the turbo lift. With P'Trell. That took balls, slappin' us both down like that. So I knew you had a pair." Henry paused, scratching his cheek. "If you'll pardon the expression, I mean. But the only reason I didn't put you in your place right then is 'cause he jumped first. So it was a choice between letting you take us both down a peg or both of us knocking _you _down. Which wasn't no kinda choice."

"Then again at the airlock, he went whole hog after the cap'n. You screwed up bringing him there and you knew it. But you didn't stumble around looking cock-eyed, you stepped up and fixed it. And you got hold of P'Trell real tight, real quick. Made him decide whether or not he trusted you. Whether you were his commanding officer. So when he handed that pistol over that told me everything I needed to know."

"And then finally with Farrell right after. He was just about to take the opportunity to get you out of the way. Maybe run you off to the supply room or something, whatever. And you saw it coming, cut his legs out from under him and defined his options for him instead. Take care of Gaver or send you back to the bridge. And he wasn't about to let anyone else tend to Gaver. Like he said, Tuffy was one of his. You played him, straight up. So I knew you could make folks do what you wanted them to do, without them knowing you done it."

"So…you got brass. You know how to inspire respect and you know how to command. And all through this nightmare the last couple of days, that's just what was needed. Times like that the crew don't need to think. They need to obey orders. Now, that don't mean they can be stupid. They gotta make decisions and figure on things. But their focus can't be on the _problem_. It has to be on how best to obey their captain. So they need a good captain to follow."

T'Pril felt slightly overwhelmed. She wouldn't have characterized herself in that way but she could see McArthur fully accepted what he had said.

"Commander." She said. "For these reasons…you believe I am a superior choice for commanding officer than you? And for this reason, you defer command?"

Henry snorted. "Oh, hell no. Given your head you'll have this ship tore to bits in a month."

T'Pril raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Then I fail to comprehend."

He grinned. "You need a solid XO. Someone who can run interference and deal with the messy bits. So you can stand at the head and crack the whip. And that's me. Now, I think I might do a better job in the chair 'cause I've been around the block. Quite a few times, in fact. But you ain't no XO. Not by a long shot. So I don't want the chair and you're welcome to it. Given a decent second officer, you'll make a very fine captain. And that's all we need."

Henry continued. "Now, before you lead us off on another tangent here…I got a question for _you_."

"Very well." She nodded. "Ask."

"Why'd you take out the Rommie's warp battery?"

Again T'Pril caught herself taken by surprise. This was unexpected and she almost, _almost _had to scramble for a response. But he thankfully elaborated, allowing her time to compose an answer.

"Because, see…I went over the action logs. Couple of dozen times. And they had us nailed. You'd just dropped hull polarization and propulsion was no go. And they had to have seen us just sitting there helpless when they rolled in. Which is why they decided to come out of cloak and eat us for breakfast. Which they damned near did."

"There was no way you could have known P'Trell would be _that _good on weapons. Which brings up some other interesting questions about _him _we'll have to examine later on, come to think of it. So when they rolled over us the _last _thing you should have ordered was full weapons on their warp battery. We should have been balls out against their engines. Cutting up their shields and reducing maneuverability. Their _weapons_, really, if we'd thought we could have pulled that off."

Seeing that he awaited her answer, she paused and drew a deep breath in order to appear contemplative.

"I admit my failure in that instance." She replied. "I should indeed have ordered weapons to concentrate on the Bird of Prey's engines. In retrospect, I predict we would have suffered significantly from that lost opportunity, had P'Trell not proven an exceptionally skilled Tactical Officer. Having examined my performance in the engagement, I can only offer that it was first experience in combat. It was a regrettable failure, an error in judgment, which I intend not to repeat. Should circumstances conspire to place us in such a situation again."

McArthur stared at her blandly for a few seconds.

At last he snorted. "So then. From now on when I hear 'I admit' and 'regrettable failure' from you I can know you're feeding me a line of bull. Duly noted."

"'Cause, you see, after you hit their warp battery…well, hell, I can't make heads or tails out of anything the Rommies did after that. Except that they got themselves killed. If I didn't know better I'd have to figure you _wanted _them to self-destruct. And that you baited them into it. Of course, that don't make any kind of sense, now does it?"

T'Pril explained. "The Romulans are well known for self-destructing in such situations, commander. Rather than risk capture of themselves or their vessels, this is the expected response. We must assume their leaders place loyal operatives aboard their vessels who have that capability. Or more likely they have systems in place to trigger destruction in such instances. Regardless, with their weapons disabled and no propulsion, it was to be expected. The same result has occurred in every engagement in which their vessels have been disabled. "

Henry insisted. "Which you led them into by keeping them on our tail while we whittled 'em down."

T'Pril continued to argue. "They were in pursuit, attempting to gain a firing solution on our starboard. And once they're weapons were disabled they continued to pursue, attempting a ramming maneuver. Self defense was the logical course of action."

"The logical course of action would have been to bug out the moment we could outrun them, instead of leading them on 'till they blew themselves up." Henry pointed out.

She remained steadfast. "At the time, I was uncertain whether we would be successful in leaving Widow's Well. Our attempts to do so at that point had failed. Further, there remained the possibility that anomalous malfunctions might resume, which could be expected to render us unable to effectively survive a second attack. It is unfortunate but the logical course of action to take at that time was to ensure the Bird of Prey was disabled. Which, of course, prompted them to self-destruct."

Henry considered that, eyes narrowed as he observed her. Until at last he was forced to accept what she'd said.

"Okay then." He nodded. "Good enough. I guess we'll both just be glad the Rommies didn't send their best this time. Because if you'd pulled that with any of those we've run up against in the past, we'd all be seeing whatever's on the other side of a black hole right about now. Don't go making the same mistake as the rest of the recruits and gettin' cocky. Rommie usually ain't as dumb as those boys were. Not by a long shot."

He nodded again, with some finality this time.

"So. We done?" He asked, jerking his head toward the door. "You want to get to business?"

T'Pril nodded in agreement. "Very well. Let us proceed."

They stood together then, preparing to depart to the ready room.

"You know, captain." Henry said suddenly. "It occurs to me we never got around to being properly introduced."

With that he stuck out his hand, smiling amicably.

"Name's Henry." He said, politely.

T'Pril considered the outstretched hand for a moment. The expected response, of course, was for her to return the gesture and shake his hand. She had so far managed to avoid unnecessary physical contact with the crew. Further, she had expected that having a Vulcan onboard already they would be more familiar with the aversion to touch. And the reasons behind it. She resolved then to speak with Doctor Sulok, to seek advice on how best to discourage such contact.

Before she could speak, intending to refuse the handshake and take steps to discourage further attempts, she suddenly recalled her mother's references to her first encounter with her father. In hindsight, she had come to the conclusion that her refusal to grasp his hand at that first meeting had been perceived as a challenge, eliciting his interest. The impetus of the years long pursuit that would result in their bond.

She decided immediately not to repeat the same mistake. While it had been well in the end for her mother, T'Pril was disposed to believe she had been exceedingly fortunate. She would not allow _her _fate to determined by chance.

She extended her hand, grasping his firmly in hers.

"I am T'Pril." She said, flatly.

Henry grinned. "Glad to make your acquaintance."

When they released, he nodded and, oddly enough, slapped one thigh sharply.

"Alright, then." He said, brightly. "I guess we got a lot of work to do. Let's get to it."

As he turned away and exited to the bridge T'Pril breathed deeply, dismissing the disturbance the brief contact had elicited. Gathering her resolve, she followed her executive officer onto the bridge with confidence. She would face the challenges that presented themselves in a matter befitting a Starfleet officer. With the logic of Surak, the discipline of mother's bloodline and the strength of her father's, she was certain there was no obstacle she would not overcome.

* * *

_Okay, that's it for Widow's Well, folks. I expect I'll be following the further exploits of the crew of the Vigilant in the near future, though.  
Until then, it's been my honor and pleasure._


End file.
